


Long Distance

by babyrubysoho



Category: Arashi (Band)
Genre: Angst, Bitchy Matsujun, Bitchy Nino, Comedy, Dopey Ohno, Filming, First Time, Fluff, Long-Distance Relationship, M/M, Ohmiya - Freeform, Phone Sex, sex comedy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-15
Updated: 2016-05-15
Packaged: 2018-06-08 13:07:14
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 25,823
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6855907
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/babyrubysoho/pseuds/babyrubysoho
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This fic belongs to the oh-so-original setting of 'Nino misses Ohno while filming Iwo Jima', involving the obligatory phone sex. Go phone sex! Nino complains a lot, and Ohno is a tease. That's about it.<br/>Includes fan art of the boys from the 2006 era (by me).</p><p>*Note: I am currently transferring 12 years’ worth of my fic from various murky corners of the Net to AO3. So if this looks familiar, that’s probably why. Either that or I’m just appallingly unoriginal…*</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

 

“ _Ninomiya-kun?”_

“ _Mngf.”_ Nino's morning voice. _“What?”_

“ _You've got it.”_

“ _...Got what?”_

 

After Nino had surfaced from sleep a little (and realised he wasn't on the phone with the STD clinic), he recognised his manager, who was letting out excited squeals down the receiver; it had taken him several minutes to get up to speed and realise what he was actually being told: he had been offered the part. He would be in a Hollywood movie, of all things, and not even in the part he had auditioned for but a _main role_. How bizarre...

Nino had blinked at himself in the mirror beside his bed – morning hair, disgruntled face – and agreed to it, baffled, too sleepy still to feel appropriately grateful.

“We'll be in LA for eight weeks,” his manager had informed him with an unprofessional level of glee that Nino suspected had more to do with sunbathing and shopping than delight at his magnificent acting talent.

“.......Ah.”

 

And that was how it began.  
 

 

* * *

  
 

“...So that's about it,” Nino finishes, leaning his elbows on the table and looking round at the four of them. “The thing is, do I go?”

Unsurprisingly, Sho and Aiba stare at him like he's a touch simple.

“Why would you _not_?” exclaims Sho, eyes glazing over slightly at the thought of a real American-size hamburger.

“Because unlike you, Sho-chan,” puts in Matsujun, from his position at the head of the table, “Nino's English is limited to asking for a beer, wrongly, in a very loud voice. He'll have to shave all his hair off, too. Won't you?” he continues, sounding slightly hopeful, grinning smugly at Nino, who gives him a Look and ignores him.

“But think of the _presents_.” Aiba nudges Sho and nods eagerly.

“This is Nino we're talking about,” Sho reminds him wryly. “You're not going to get anything.” They shrug at each other.

“You should go,” they tell Nino in unison. Nino rolls his eyes.

“Go,” agrees Matsujun, voice of authority. “I'm sure I can keep these three in hand for a couple of months.”

“I'm _sure_ you can.” Nino glowers surreptitiously at their youngest member's left hand, which is creeping calculatedly towards their Leader in a move Nino recognises as the 'stretch-and-grope;' he ought to know, he uses it enough himself.

“Anyway,” Matsujun says with finality, “Johnny wants to you to go. So this whole discussion is pretty much academic, right?”

Nino purses his lips and stares at the one person in the room who's keeping his opinions to himself, the one person whose opinion Nino has called this meeting in aid of.

Ohno is gazing at him with slightly raised eyebrows – not his politely bored face, but the one he wears when he's still trying to work out what's going on and is pretending he's totally up to speed – and doesn't seem to have anything to say.

“Leader?” Nino asks in exasperation, snapping his fingers in front of the older man's face. Ohno leans absently away from Matsujun's wide-armed and very fake yawn, and blinks seriously at Nino.

“Um?”

“Do I _go_?” demands Nino. “Can you be a foursome for two months?”

Ohno shifts a little closer, eyes softening as he realises what he's being asked, making Nino's pulse skip pleasantly.

“Go,” says Ohno happily, giving that oblivious smile that sends a shiver all the way down to Nino's toes. “It'll be fun.”

 

That was five months ago.

 

* * *

  
 

Only a day left: one recording, two interviews, and Nino is _gone_. He leans back in his chair with a thump, and waits for Ohno to realise it too.

He's been waiting for quite some time.

Nino can't pinpoint exactly when he fell, but he takes it in his stride. Nor can he distinguish very clearly between _loving_ , which all of them do whether they voice it or not, and being _in love_ , which he's pretty sure only he is. He doesn't think very hard about it, at least not often; the day-to-day reality of it is giving him enough of a headache without dragging up how the whole mess began.

It's Ohno, of course. Of _course_. Nino sometimes thinks the only person to be surprised at the revelation would be Leader himself, and his stomach knots up at the idea. He doesn't know when, and he doesn't know why, but at some hazy point in their past he woke up to Ohno snoring softly in the next bed over, and knew there was no-one else for him; and that, largely, was that. Nino's not exactly shy about showing his affections: touching Ohno, holding him, teasing him, saving the best treats for him, just to see those worried eyebrows even out in a smile. It's not like the other three don't do exactly the same, on varying levels, which is why Nino feels so secure about it; and if he ever thinks he'd rather get it out in the open than live with a part of himself hidden like this, if he feels melodramatic and like he'll start to expire if he can't touch Ohno _right now_...Well, he just mans up and gets on with his life. Ohno, he has decided, doesn't need to know. All that matters is that the man is happy, and he _is_ ; Nino is careful not to upset the status quo, and Arashi goes on largely without incident.

Ohno isn't stupid. He _looks_ like he is, with his baby face and sleepy eyes, and expressions that veer between deep-seated vagueness and adorable pie-eyed bewilderment; but there's a brain in there somewhere, behind the inability to read difficult words and the blind faith that whatever he's eating won't kill him. Nino has seen it occasionally, when Ohno's eyes narrow speculatively and he drops into a different kind of silence, and while he loves it as much as he loves anything else, it scares him slightly. Hence, the year-round effort to Protect Leader From Things That Will Just Confuse Him, noble as it sounds, is largely to keep Nino's own life hassle-free.

“Yo, Nino.” And here comes himself, blinking slowly, dropping into the chair and slinging one leg over Nino's thighs, because there's precious little room for two.

“Lump,” says Nino, ostensibly irritated but unable to stop himself winding his arms around Ohno like some kind of rock python. “You can't sit here, we've gotta get up and doing, there's a lot to finish before I go.”

“Mmhm. You're going.” Ohno's round face is pink from one of his cat-naps; he shows no sign of trying to extricate himself, and Nino doesn't do much to help. Matsujun scoots past, pointing at the schedule and making ineffectual clucking noises at his leader before vanishing in a whirlwind of stress and good looks. Ohno smiles absently at Nino.

“Chubby cheeks,” says Nino gleefully, pinching his face with both hands because he knows the older man finds it annoying. Sure enough, Ohno huffs and puffs and bats his fingers away, and manages to wriggle out of the chair, which is just as well because Nino is on the point of letting slip an entirely serious declaration that Ohno is the most adorable thing he has ever had the good fortune to be obsessed with, and how is _that_ going to help protect Leader's interests?

It's all very laudable and high-flown, this doctrine of restraint, and it's what Nino tells himself, sternly, whenever Ohno is looking particularly edible or Nino feels like more than a swift grope of the behind. But that's where it all falls down, unfortunately, because he doesn't just love Ohno, he _wants_ him, especially during dry spells when he's not seeing anyone else; and today, of all days, his leader isn't making it any easier.

The trouble...The trouble is that Ohno doesn't _mind_ anything, ever, except perhaps the occasional large animal. Nino doesn't know whether to find it annoying or a godsend: dress him up as a girl to snag a boyfriend for a transsexual, and Ohno doesn't mind. Send him into a houseful of ghosts, and Ohno either doesn't mind or is too _absent_ minded to notice (while Nino almost screams the place down, to his chagrin). Play a hundred pranks; he doesn't mind, just gives Nino a mildly reproachful look with those big eyes that make Nino melt. Nino can cuddle him, smack him, grope various bits of him in front of a roomful of cameras, he doesn't bat an eyelid. Nino wonders what he'd have to do to cause any kind of comment from the other man. He sometimes thinks he could stick a hand straight down his leader's pants, and Ohno wouldn't mind. Nino refrains, however, or at least has done _so far_ , because there's something ridiculously cute, not to mention convenient, about that acceptance, and he can't imagine what he'd do if he lost it.

 

“I'm hungry.” Ohno sighs soulfully, later. “What I wouldn't do for some _ten-don_ right now.”

“Tough luck,” states Nino, who is enjoying himself too much to worry about catering to his leader's stomach. “You'll have to wait till they say we can go.”

Ohno is in his lap again with his head lolling back comfortably, something that happens more often than other people see and less often than everyone thinks. Nino mumbles his conversation into the older man's hair, Ohno's left cheek round and warm against his neck, and loves that this kind of thing is no longer weird to anybody around them.

“Shall I come to the airport with you?” Ohno enquires, apropos of nothing, slim fingers tapping a complicated rhythm on Nino's forearm.

“If you like.” Nino tries to sound nonchalant.

“Mm. I can change my schedule a bit. Otherwise there'll be no-one there to say goodbye.” Ohno's voice drops softly and Nino grits his teeth silently because he's been trying not to think about the word.

“Leader...” he manages before his voice trails off as it really hits him that there is only a day left and he's still not _absolutely_ sure where his passport is. Ohno's hand covers his, face pressing against his shoulder for a brief moment, and Nino wonders again whether Ohno ever feels the same as he himself does right now, or whether this is the same democratic caring he doles out to everyone in Arashi as and when required. He feels soft breath warm on his neck, and then Ohno is boosting himself out of the chair and linking arms with Sho, who has just strolled in and seems a more likely prospect for scoring dinner.

Nino's living room is still a mountain of unpacked clothes, so he says his goodbyes to the others, who wish him perfectly well and hope he has a nice time but they're hungry, thank you very much, and waves good night to Ohno.

“Check-in's at two-thirty,” he calls after him at the last minute. “ _Remember!_ ”

Ohno flaps one elegant hand, and is gone. Nino stares after them for a minute, wondering what the odds are he'll be there on time, and thinking hey, this is going to be easy after all.  
  
  


* * *

  
 

Ohno is late, so much so that check-in time has already begun. This, Nino realises as he scans the crowd and pretends to listen to his manager, is _not_ going to be easy, seeing as he's only been without him five minutes and is feeling the itch already. Nino doesn't even want to think about how bad it will be after a couple of months, and sits on the possibility that he might have become a drooling, Leader-hungry maniac fit only for committal by the end of them.

“I'm here.” Ohno's breathless voice makes him turn his head like a snake, and there is his leader, panting contritely, slim chest heaving beneath another of his ratty, un-idolish t-shirts.

“What time d'you call this?” exclaims Nino, pursing his lips and tugging Ohno's collar straight with a little wifely 'tsk' of annoyance, simultaneously pushing down a silent sigh of relief.

“Sorry,” says Ohno mildly. Nino shakes his head, but doesn't have much to say to that, and instead falls into unconscious contemplation of the older man's face, fingers lingering absently against the worn cloth of his t-shirt. Ohno submits placidly to being stared at as if he were a piece of art, as if this were entirely normal, eyes blinking slowly.

After about a minute Nino huffs out a breath and lowers his hand, knowing that if he doesn't get moving then neither of them will, because Ohno has obviously dropped into Standby mode.

“I'd better go,” he says, then repeats it, waving one hand in front of him. “Captain, I said I have to go.”

“Brilliant,” interjects Nino's manager, who is trying to carry on two conversations at once so Nino can't tell if it was directed at himself or at the person on the end of the cell phone.

A slender hand on his wrist turns his attention back to Ohno, who has caught up with events and is looking at him seriously, fingers cool against his skin. Nino has a moment to fix the details of his face in his mind, before those perfect lips move and throw his concentration off.

“Call me sometimes,” Ohno says worriedly, apparently reluctant to let go of his hand, as if Nino was planning to become a hermit as soon as he lands in California. As a rule, Nino likes to be the one to initiate contact, if only because he has no idea what Ohno means when he does it, but this time it sends a shiver over him because he knows he won't feel that too-platonic-but-it's-better-than-nothing touch again for months.

“Fuck it,” says Nino to no-one in particular, dropping his hand luggage; and then to his manager, “just wait a second, ok?”

Ohno gives a surprised little 'oof' as Nino's fingers tighten on his and drag him off across the floor. Nino tugs him behind a trolley of suitcases, away from the glaring lights of the concourse; Ohno is a willing captive, as usual, looking around with mild curiosity but making no complaint until Nino pushes him up against the wall.

“I'm gonna be gone for a while,” Nino tells him, just in case it hasn't really sunk in. “You have to be Arashi without me.”

“I know,” agrees Ohno solemnly, tilting his head back a little, appraisingly, incidentally baring his throat to Nino, who swallows hard.

“Leader,” he mutters, dropping Ohno's hand as if it burns but stepping closer in the shadow of the tall trolley while his mind is hammering on the walls of his body and demanding _what the hell do you think you're doing?!._ Nino diplomatically ignores it.

“You're being weird.” Ohno might have wanted to elaborate on this observation, but Nino doesn't give him the chance; without waiting for permission from his brain, he leans in quickly and brushes his lips against Ohno's closed mouth, the first serious kiss he's ever given him, feeling him freeze. If Nino was expecting some schoolgirl-ish _frisson_ of completion at the contact, he's disappointed: it's awkward and uncomfortable, waiting for Ohno to shove him away; it's probably the most disconcerting sensation he's ever experienced, and it feels _good_.

“Mmf.” Ohno makes a brief, ambiguous noise as Nino's hands rise to slide through his hair.

“Sorry,” Nino says, meaning it, kissing him again because he can't help it. “Sorry.” Ohno's mouth is soft and still with uncertainty, and Nino has time to note how different it feels to kissing the broad grin his leader wears when they do this in public, in play. Then Ohno is pulling away, not sharply but with finality and that flicker of his sleepy eyes that might be worry or annoyance, Nino can rarely tell because the latter is so often hidden by the former.

“You'll be late,” says Ohno levelly, hypocritically, one hand resting neutrally on Nino's spine as he ambles them back towards check-in. There's no time to stop and discuss what the hell just happened, even if either of them had felt so inclined, because Nino's manager is waving boarding passes impatiently at him, and Nino is too busy going _bugger_ under his breath to even think of making sense.

“Um...” is all Ohno can manage, at the last moment, staring very calmly and deliberately at Nino's left ear, a barely-there blush suffusing his round cheeks. Nino wildly considers just keeping his mouth shut and rushing straight through to the boarding gate. Then he remembers there'll be no Leader to touch, cripplingly awkward or not, for several weeks, and settles for giving Ohno a manly thump on the shoulder followed by a suitably brotherly hug, which the older man returns, tightly, as if by habit.

Then Ohno is off, wandering thoughtfully away as soon as Nino reaches the check-in counter, and not looking back. Nino wrestles with all the electronics in his hand luggage, ignoring the memory of Ohno's heart racing against his, blushing furiously and much too late at the security guards. His manager notices, decides it must be the beginning of flu, and forbids Nino alcohol for the entire flight. Nino scowls, thumbs his PSP viciously, and spends the next ten hours very carefully not thinking about the warm silk of Ohno's lips beneath his own.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A short one. But next time there will be sort of sex...

Back in Japan, when he first read the script, Nino didn't really understand his character. Theoretically he knew what this soldier, this _boy_ was going through; but he couldn't _feel_ it. Nino has always been protected, by his management, by his friends; and, errant bitchiness and practical jokes notwithstanding, he's generally at least liked by the people around him. So trying to imagine otherwise was something of a stretch.

Once he arrives on set, though, the first glimmer of understanding begins to dawn. Nino stands on the black sands of the Pisgah Crater, in full sweltering costume and makeup, and surveys the volcano in amazement. He's not thinking of anything much, other than how _empty_ is it; but once they've been filming for a few hours, and he's been prodded about and nagged and ordered to stand _just there_ , and the sun is baking and the cinders blowing around them, it strikes him: what Saigo must feel, as he digs and digs and follows orders and wonders if he'll ever get out alive.

Not that Nino is terribly worried about getting shot, even if this _is_ LA; but when he rereads his script during lunch, the idea of missing someone begins to solidify, unsurprisingly around the figure of Ohno, who keeps popping up in his mind lately and annoying him by distracting him from his lines.  
Nino knows that before too many weeks have passed he'll be going home, and will have Ohno in his arms again whether he likes it or not; just thinking about the possibility of _never seeing him again_ is suddenly enough to make him shudder, so he gives up being irritated with this spectral Leader, because now he _gets_ Saigo, feels he can become him in a way he would never have been able to a month ago.

It's a tricky role for Nino, even so, whose characters usually tend to be closer to himself, in terms of era if nothing else. Saigo is so lost, eminently sensible in Nino's opinion but helplessly caught up in the vagaries of other people's ideas of honour. It doesn't help that not even the director seems a hundred percent sure of what he wants the character to be, if his musing frowns and endless takes are anything to go by.

“I can't work out what he wants,” says Nino one day in quiet frustration to one of the ADs, via interpreter. “Am I being too whiny? Not whiny enough? Too emotional?”

“That's all right,” the man replies after an interlude, heaving himself up from the rock next to Nino. “He doesn't know what he wants yet either. Some characters just aren't the same as you thought they would be on paper. Don't worry,” the AD continues, clapping Nino on the back with his clipboard and making him spill pasta salad down his breeches before wandering off to do something technical, “the difficult ones often turn out the best.”

At this, the ill-behaved vision of Ohno pops up again, and for once Nino has time to give himself free rein to indulge it. Forgetting about his interpreter, who sneaks off at the first possible moment to make herself useful to Watanabe Ken, on whom she has a crush, Nino sprawls in the insufficient shade of his rock and gropes his wallet out of his uniform jacket. _Somewhere in here_...Oh yes. He gives a little sigh and grins to himself as the photo emerges from its hiding place.

Nino has loved this picture ever since he stole it from Aiba's throwaway pile. He keeps it folded away behind his credit cards, because frankly it's not the best-looking photo of himself he's ever clapped eyes on and he'd rather Matsujun didn't snigger at him for being so sentimental as to keep it. He knows he was unphotogenically drunk enough by the time it was taken to be grinning moronically with one eye half closed, he knows there's a fair possibility he threw up five minutes afterwards, and he doesn't care. Why should he, when Ohno's arms are tight around him, skin smooth and brown against the indigo of their yukata? Leader, Nino reflects, rubbing creases out of the print absently, Leader looks so perfect in this picture that he outshines all the lamps in the room: caught in the second after he noticed the camera, Ohno is getting ready to smile, eyes wide and dark with surprise, those lips that Nino finds so fascinating just parting. He looks serene, and beautiful, and happy.

“ _Satoshi_.” Nino traces the round face beneath his fingers, then sighs wryly and pushes his helmet off his hot forehead, wondering what he must look like right now.

When he glances up he sees the American director has wandered over to their area of rock and is watching Nino gaze at his picture from a distance, rubbing his chin thoughtfully. Nino looks around quickly, waiting for his translator to pop up, because when Eastwood says do something you jump to it.

“Hello,” says Nino, after a while, because his English won't stretch to anything else and Miwako has yet to reappear. Eastwood nods at him but doesn't come any closer, just stares at him for another couple of seconds with a glazed look, before quirking a smile to himself and turning on his heel.

Nino scratches his head, not sure if that means good or bad or nothing at all. Maybe good, he decides four hours later, when he's up to his eyeballs in dust and fake blood, because the director for a change is grinning and nodding and they get the scene down in only three takes, and Nino finally gets a day off.

 _Call Oh-chan_ , he thinks, and grins himself, as someone finally allowing himself a long-savoured treat. This, he reflects a moment afterwards, catching himself wallowing, is getting ridiculous. It's not as though phone calls with Leader have ever been especially rewarding, other than Ohno's rare drunken confessions of love at three in the morning.

It doesn't stop him, even so.  
 

 

* * *

  
 

The first time Nino calls, Ohno doesn't pick up. Or the second, or the third, until Nino throws his phone against the wall in a fit of paranoia, and it's only thanks to AU's craftsmanship that he's still able to use it and get through to Matsujun, who is entirely unsympathetic.

“What did you expect?” he demands, not bothering to suppress a certain smugness, if Nino is any judge. “If Leader checks his phone once a week you'll be lucky.”

“Well seeing as I'm _thousands of miles away_ ,” Nino grumbles, “I thought it would be nice.”

“Yeah, yeah, suck it up. Do you know how stressful it is around here at the moment?”

Nino snorts. “You're just feeling the pressure of being the only bitch in the band,” he says snippily, knowing that Matsujun isn't exactly averse to a little Ohno skinship himself, however much he scorns the Ohmiya public fanservice, and feeling in no mood to commiserate with him. “ _Make him email me_.”

“Whatever,” trills Matsujun gleefully, hanging up.

Nino resists the urge to publish their youngest member's phone number and address in _Wink-Up_ , especially when Ohno does text him, belatedly but apologetically. After a string of messages, which takes about a week because Ohno has at any one time either left his phone somewhere or is so vague in content as to be unintelligible, Nino has prised a promise out of him to be at home at a set time with the phone in plain view.

Typically, they end up doing location shooting again that day; Nino doesn't have a lot of scenes scheduled himself, but there he is anyway, sweating in uniform and makeup and getting absurdly over-excited in between feeling sour at the whole communication situation. As if it wasn't hard enough to get hold of Ohno in the first place, they happen to be shooting a hundred miles from LA, in the mountains, in an abandoned town, in a cave, which renders the concept of cell phones laughable. The crew, knowing the propensity of certain cast members to get bored and wander round annoying lighting technicians and tripping over vital cables, have lugged up a still-functional dinosaur of a portable phone for them to use, and dressed it as a war-time field telephone for their own dubious amusement.

 _This is what I'm reduced to_ , reflects Nino as he pounces on it during his first break, _trying to call the other side of the world in the middle of a wilderness, on a machine that's older than me, all to see if this idiot still remembers who I am_.

After wresting the phone from Kase Ryo, and about fifteen minutes of swearing while listening to dialtones and automated operators later, Nino finally hears the sweet sound of a phone ringing somewhere outside Tokyo. He grins as someone eventually picks up.

“Hello?” says Ohno, faint and crackly, and Nino gets barely a word in before he immediately begins talking to someone else in the room. “It's Nino. No, he's not back yet, he just got there.” Nino raises an eyebrow and waits for Ohno to remember he's there. “No, Mother, you cannot talk to him, will you go away?” A moment of silence.

“So, you're home,” observes Nino, thinking he might need a little prompt.

“Yeah, the meeting finished an hour ago.” Nino has no idea to what Ohno is referring, but it doesn't matter, he just wants to bask in the sound of that quiet voice. Now that he's connected, he can't think what to say, so he listens indulgently while Ohno fires off a dozen unconnected questions　about the heat, American food, his hair, the film's plot. Nino can't detect any awkwardness, but isn't quite sure whether they're carefully ignoring the whole airport incident, or whether Ohno thinks nothing of it at all. It doesn't seem that important, not while they're so far apart; Nino looks down at his army boots, and feels the warmth rise up in him with every rambling word Ohno speaks. Somewhere out of the corner of his eye he notices the director and his group of essentials going through a laborious translation of the blocking for the current scene, but while Ohno and he are connected, everything else seems insignificant, even when Eastwood glances over at him with the musing expression that Nino sometimes draws from him.

“What're you doing, Oh-chan?” asks Nino, wondering if he sounds as eager as he feels.

“Talking on the phone,” replies Ohno blithely, without a hint of irony. Nino clicks his tongue patiently, cradling the handset between his ear and his shoulder.

“I mean right now, while you're talking,” he clarifies.

“Oh.” A soft noise of comfortable complaint and a rustle of cloth, and the faint sound of joints cracking that sets Nino's teeth on edge as a rule, and now just makes him grin.

“You're lolling around on the sofa,” he hazards. “Leader, don't you dare fall asleep!”

“I'm not going to.” Ohno's voice is placid and dozy, but that hardly tells Nino much. “I'm thinking.”

“So, what about?” Nino wonders how much time he has before someone comes and stands tapping their foot by the phone, making this impossible. Typical of the man, to disrupt his own routine for a phone call and then have nothing to say.

“About you,” Ohno says calmly, quietly, and Nino presses the phone hard against his ear, knuckles white, wants to push himself into it as if he could touch Ohno that way. All of a sudden he misses that contact so much it makes him sick.

“...Yeah?” is all he can manage without sounding like a teenage girl, because the director and his ADs are watching him again with a certain professional interest and it's impossible to keep his attention on both parties and still remain collected.

“I kind of miss you,” Ohno tells Nino matter-of-factly, snapping his focus back instantly. Nino squeezes his eyes shut, relief, longing crashing over him, stopping the breath in his throat. Another rustling noise down the phone, and he imagines Ohno shifting, thoughtlessly graceful, the arch of his small body lazy and nonchalant as if he hadn't just made his best friend's heart race. “I wish you were back already.”

“Oh-chan...” He opens his eyes again in time to see one of the ADs scribbling something in his notebook as Eastwood gestures towards him with the air of a professor giving a lecture. Nino hurriedly swipes at the back of his neck with his cloth hat, wiping moisture and dirt away and giving his best scowl at nothing in particular. By the time his attention is on the phone again it seems that Ohno has come to the end of his maudlin moment anyway, and is now embarking on a slow ramble about the appallingness of the latest Johnny's costumes.

Nino doesn't get anything else out of the conversation in the end, no more accidentally tender little sentences to cuddle up to on cold nights ( _bloody boiling hot nights_ , he amends); just the reaffirmation, over and over, that Ohno is there somewhere, really _there_ , his voice warm and vague and real and just like it is in Nino's imagination after all.

When he puts the phone down at last, he's still smiling.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Phone sex. Disastrous phone sex.

It holds Nino over for about a week before the itch begins to escalate again. Even then he doesn't cave in, because he's not ready to look like a stalker _quite_ yet; he makes do with Aiba instead, and Sho when he has time, both of whom can be trusted to slip in a mention of Leader at least three times every five minutes; it's a better way of keeping tabs on what Ohno's doing than talking to the man himself, actually. Nino forces himself to be satisfied with the knowledge that Ohno is turning up for work, is opening his mouth and speaking occasionally during TV appearances, and is apparently not about to arraign Matsujun on molestation charges.

Nino gets on with his job, day after day of dust and sweat and wrestling his character off the page before collapsing into the air-conditioned dryness of a hotel bed. A week, two, three... and by then he's messaging Ohno constantly whether he gets replies or not, he's looking at his picture every day, feeling the ache in his chest and lower areas too, let's be honest, when he goes to sleep at night. What Nino persists in referring to as his 'swear jar' (it's not, it's a jerk-off-to-Ohno's-image jar, but that just sounds too creepy) is increasingly full of dollar bills rather than hundred-yen coins: enough for a whole new console, by the look of it.

It's just about bearable; he's a grown up, isn't he?

It's when Nino comes to the horrifying realisation that he can't even _game_ properly for thinking of Ohno that he knows things have gotten ridiculous, goddammit. He goes so far as to eject his admittedly impossible Lost Magic cartridge and throw it across the break room with a snarl (though he wouldn't even consider throwing the DS itself; he's not _insane_ ), when he realises he's been worrying about Leader's eating habits for half the last mission, his attention veering off every so often to other wicked thoughts of Ohno's mouth.

Nino is currently frazzled; it's the first time he's ever done an all-night shoot, other than for a couple of Arashi's more bizarre adventures, and the time is throwing him off: it's half-light outside, and while Nino's schedule is telling him it's almost dinner time and the end of the day, his body clock is insisting that it's breakfast. He looks at his watch, to figure out which is right. It's 6:20a.m. An ungodly hour of the morning, and he only finished his scenes an hour ago.

“Argh.” He slouches deeper into the sofa of the temporary break room, sticks his hands in his pockets, finds his phone. He tosses it up and down, wanting, wanting, he's got nothing better to do and he needs to hear something _familiar_. Nino knows that if he was in Tokyo now he could choose from the pleasure of Aiba's been-up-all-night insane ramblings, or Matsujun's bony elbow in his side to keep him awake; and if he wanted to sleep there would be Leader's slender shoulder or his soft, accommodating lap, _fuck_ , he wants Ohno here so badly just this second...

Nino gives up, dials the number, the closest his fingers will get to Ohno for weeks. He doesn't care if he wakes him up, it's only... 11:30 at night there, which is mid-morning to Nino right about now. It rings and rings, and Leader hasn't set his voicemail so Nino lets it keep ringing, throwing his head back against the arm of the sofa. Then a click, a breath.

“Yup?” comes a deep, harassed voice down the line. Nino sits up, a frown creasing his pale forehead.

“Sho?”

“Yeah, it's me -” A scuffle, a thud as Sho drops the phone, and muffled cursing. “Satoshi, I swear to god -”

“Is Oh-chan there?” demands Nino. Sho grunts and a door slams. “Well he's not _all_ there,” complains the rapper in a harried manner, “but you knew that already.”

“Nino! It's Nino, right?” A third voice adds itself to the conversation, and Nino grins sharply, rolling his eyes to himself, listening to the subdued struggle for possession of the phone thousands of miles away. Ohno is drunk, he'd know that gently slurred tone anywhere, which explains why Sho answered in the first place; the older man can't be trusted with his own keys or wallet or phone in such a state without mishap, as they all know perfectly well, even Ohno himself.

“Hi!” Ohno announces, finally speaking directly into the cell phone. Nino hears a cupboard door and then the dangerous chime of glass.

“Captain,” he says, amused. “Where are you?”

“Home now. Not _home_ home.”

“The apartment,” clarifies Sho in the background.

Ohno makes a little noise of dismay, and Nino wonders what havoc he's wreaking. “Sho-chan was just going, weren't you.”

“Oh, _yes_.” Sho's exasperated voice carries from the other side of the room. “ _Thank you_ , Sho, thank you for not letting me get murdered in an alleyway or flattened by a taxi. Oh, don't mention it!”

“Say 'bye to Sho,” Nino instructs, and Ohno obligingly blurts out a mangled good-night and apology, to which Sho snorts ironically and laughs. The door bangs again. Nino leans back, abandoning any hope of a decent conversation this time.

“Did you have a good night, Oh-chan?”

“Mmf.” Nino hears the door chain being fumbled into place, and allows himself to drift, picturing Ohno's face of concentration at the tricky manoeuvre: eyes narrowed, the tip of a pink tongue sticking out. “Aiba can drink a damn sight more than he says he can. It was pathetic.”

“Well if you haven't learnt that in the last seven years there's probably no hope for you,” agrees Nino fondly, too lazy at the moment to be jealous that he's not there to help Ohno home. He pushes at the leg of the coffee table with a socked foot, not really listening to the words, letting the soft voice fill him with pangs of familiar, comfortable longing.

Ohno's patchy monologue about that week's G no Arashi is interrupted by the creak of bedsprings.

“Why don't you go to sleep, Captain?” suggests Nino patiently. “We can do this another time.”

“After I stayed up specially to talk to you?” The sound of a head hitting the pillows.

“That's not true, is it?” Nino says mildly, and gets no answer. He waits a bit, then decides Ohno must have switched to Off mode and sighs.

“Oi, _Leader_!”

“'m still here,” Ohno tells him irritably. His words are running together a little. “How's it going over there?”

Nino starts to tell him about filming, wondering if he'll fall asleep in the interim. He wants to tell Ohno how hard it is, nothing like acting in dramas, and how he's come to understand Saigo just a little bit because of how intensely he misses Ohno, how acutely he wants to come back to him, that Ohno is really the driving force behind how he defines the whole character. But he doesn't say it, even though odds are the older man won't remember any of the conversation in the morning.

“It's too hot,” Ohno interrupts in mid-flow, and Nino hears the thump of the cell phone hitting the bed covers. “I'm getting undressed,” comes the voice again, tinny and faint with distance.

Nino makes a face, glancing around to check whether anyone has turned up to witness this disjointed exchange.

“Then hang up!” he exclaims.

“Huh?” Ohno picks up the phone again. Nino can hear the rustle of sheets as he kicks them down the bed. He tries, with some success, to concentrate and not get lost thinking about Ohno lying there naked.

“I said, you don't really need me here for this, do you?”

“I always need you,” Ohno says, completely deadpan, effectively silencing his friend. Nino feels the familiar race of his pulse, which happens whenever Ohno unwittingly drops little comments like this into an otherwise banal conversation, and leans his head against the sofa back.

“Oh-chan...” he begins, one ear cocked for the inevitable moment when someone barges into the room and spoils this.

“I miss you so much.” Ohno almost whispers it, and for the first time Nino is grateful for the distance between them, and Aiba's drinking games, because it's not the kind of thing that his leader, who conveys his feelings through touch rather than words, would normally say. He swallows lightly.

“How much?”

For a long time Ohno doesn't respond, and Nino wonders again whether he's fallen asleep. He knows the older man's levels of inebriation pretty well, and by his calculations the 'snore appallingly for nine hours' stage shouldn't be too far away. He hears a sharp little indrawn breath, another, then silence.

“Call me when you're awake. I'm hanging up,” Nino announces eventually.

“ _Don't_.” Ohno breathes the word hurriedly, quietly, a little crack in his soft voice. “Talk to me.”

“What're you doing?” asks Nino, scowling a bit in concern.

“...Nothing,” Ohno mumbles after a pause, voice even more distant, as if he's turning his head away from the phone.

“Are you ok, Leader?” Nino isn't sure whether to be worried or annoyed, so he busies himself by tugging his cards from his back pocket and shuffling them absently with one hand while he waits for an answer.

“Nn...”

Nino's fingers freeze at the tone of that quiet moan, a sound he has heard from a dozen girls and never, ever from Ohno. “Don't stop talking...”

“I...about what?” he manages, gaping at the phone.

“ _Anything_.” Ohno's breathing is shaky.

_He can't be serious_ , thinks Nino in half-amused, half-horrified disbelief. He wonders why the other man didn't just hang up on him ten minutes ago if this is what he felt like doing; he waits silently, straining to catch another faint whimper, until he concludes that Ohno has covered the mouthpiece with his hand to prevent Nino hearing him.

“Hey...” mutters Nino, feeling weird, determined not to say any more until he finds out exactly what the hell the little drunken idiot thinks he's up to. He considers throwing his phone in the fish tank and taking a brisk run around the set, especially when Watanabe's manager pokes his head around the door, observes the red-faced idol blankly, gives him a shrug and retreats. Nino feels his ears burn, although he hasn't done anything to embarrass himself as yet.

“You miss me too, right?” whispers Ohno at length, relenting and uncovering the phone when Nino doesn't continue.

_No way he's going to carry on_. Nino lets out a half-snarl of irritation, one eye on the door. This is not fair, this is absurd. “Don't ask stupid questions,” he snaps, a little roughly.

“Then...say it.” Ohno's soft voice is needy and intoxicated, and Nino's head swims with the ridiculousness, the impossibility of this moment. “Come _on_ , Nino!”

“What?” Nino growls through gritted teeth, knowing this encounter can have nothing but bad consequences and determined to hold out as long as humanly possible.

“...You want me.” Ohno says it as simply as he understates every significant announcement, and follows it up with another little moan that floors Nino completely, causing every neuron to leave off producing common sense and set them all firing the shudder of desire that suddenly rocks him. He takes a gulp of air, finally allowing his imagination to flood him with images of Ohno as he must look at this moment, naked, dishevelled, beautiful. Why not say it, after all? How many more years before this chance comes again? Another deep breath.

“ _I want you_ , Oh-chan.”

“Aah... _Nino_...” The drawn-out sound of his name makes the hair rise on the back of Nino's neck, the metal of the phone cold against his burning cheek. Never, never has he wanted to kiss Ohno this badly, now that he's on the other side of the world.

“I want you,” he repeats, more firmly, over the sweet sound of the older man's accelerated breathing. “And I always have.” He can't imagine how Ohno has let this come about, Ohno who even when drunk barely strays past the usual skinship and grabbiness of their everyday affection; but it doesn't matter, nothing matters outside the tenuous electronic contact they're sharing _right now_.

“Hey...” The words slip disjointedly from Ohno's perfect mouth, and Nino shivers thinking about it. “If you were with me now...what would you do to me?”

“Everything,” promptly whispers Nino, who has no idea how to talk dirty and is pretty sure Ohno doesn't either, five years' worth of fantasies slamming into him in the space of half a second. It seems to make Ohno happy, at any rate; Nino catches a pleased little sigh of satisfaction between the ragged breaths. _I'm really going to sit here and listen to this_ , he thinks, dazedly, sinking lower in his seat and sending a fervent prayer to anything that might be paying attention for nobody to interrupt it.

“I wish... _nn_...you'd kiss me again,” Ohno continues, voice flushed with excitement, becoming more animated as he gets closer to the edge.

“ _You_ want me to kiss you.” Nino knows that this is now pure drink talking; they have never mentioned that time at the airport, skirted around the topic as if it could bite. But that doesn't stop his glowing reaction to the confession.

“ _Everywhere_ ,” confides Ohno, sounding almost distressed with pleasure. “You started this...so finish it!”  
Nino is quite giddy with the words, the hand holding his cell phone shaking.

“Slow down, Oh-chan,” he murmurs soothingly, wanting to prolong this moment as long as he can before the inevitable aftermath of guilt, regret, embarrassment, he doesn't even know what.

“ _Can't_.”

“I'm serious.” Nino leans forward, rashly throwing caution to the winds. “Take your hands off yourself.”

“That's -”

“Hold on to the pillow if you have to,” he continues, “but keep still.” He hears Ohno give a muttered curse of frustration, fingers twining with a rustle in the fabric next to his head. Nino raises an eyebrow; he's not surprised, not really, because Ohno has always been obedient when it comes to his suggestions; but Nino can't imagine himself being so compliant if the boot was on the other foot.

“What...now...genius?” comes Ohno's voice, unsteadily.

_Good question_ , thinks Nino. He sees himself reflected in the smooth glass of the fish tank, eyes narrowed, hunched over the sofa. _Dammit, I look like a pervert!_ He coughs and sits up straighter.

“Er,” he says intelligently.

“Nino, _please_...”

“Just...shut up a minute,” Nino scolds, trying to keep his own voice at its normal steady pitch and think. And then, because he's feeling put-upon, “I wasn't expecting to have to improvise a complex choreographic sequence just so you could get off tonight, Leader!”

“Nino...” Another soft moan.

“Oh-chan, if you move your hands I will hang up this phone.”

“ _Ninoooo_ ,” comes the despondent little voice again, and Nino can tell the older man is wearing his most charming expression of pouting reproach, one that Nino has never managed to pull off himself.

“What?”

“...You're being a grade-A bitch.”

Nino starts to comment acidly that they're drifting rather off the point of this conversation, when he notices a persistent beeping on the line.

“Ah,” exclaims Ohno, a few seconds slower as ever, “call waiting!”

“What of it?”

“It's Masaki,” Ohno mumbles, what Nino is coming to think of as his 'sex voice' vanishing in favour of the usual dopey amiability, to Nino's dismay. “Hang on -”

“ _Are you serious?!_ Don't -” Nino stares at his cell phone incredulously, hearing the irritating introduction to Ohno's hold music. “Aiba!” he yells, knowing neither of them can hear him and wanting to punch something, “stop wasting my money and get off the line!”

“Er...everything ok?” A new voice cuts in on his rant, and it takes him a moment to realise that it's in the room with him. Matsuzaki Yuki is standing next to the water cooler, helping himself and peering at Nino rather nervously.

_I hope to god he only just came in_. Nino wants to gnaw on the sofa cushions in frustration, but settles for giving the older man a vacant nod and a grimace that might be considered a smile, the tinny little tune still playing relentlessly in his ear. _If he sits down this is never going to end_. He reflects dismally that he should never have expected any activity involving Leader to be within shouting distance of normal, and gives a heartfelt sigh, making a face at the phone.

“Yeah. Um.” Matsuzaki is edging towards the door, looking at Nino as if he'd just suggested they engage in inappropriate activities with a badger. “They okayed the rushes, so...guess we're done for the night. So, uh, I'll just...bye!”

Nino puffs out a breath as the other actor leaves, and takes another peek at himself in the fishtank. Oh. His face is bright red with arousal and annoyance, and his free hand is neurotically twisting the material of his jacket, tendons raised below the knuckles. Yes, he looks mildly insane. He starts to count under his breath, resolving that if Aiba hasn't vanished by the time he reaches ten, he is _definitely_ hanging up and getting drunk miserably by himself.

“ _Eight, eight and a half..._ ”

A click, and the grating music mercifully stops.

“You here...?” comes the gentle slur Nino has been waiting for, followed by a quiet hiccup.

“Amazingly,” Nino says bitterly, wondering if Ohno even remembers what they were doing just now. “Captain, if you ever cut me off again, I'll -”

“Eh?”

“I'll – well, I'll damn well do nothing, that's what.” Nino shakes his head at his reflection. _Pitiful_. “And don't you forget it!”

“Ok,” agrees Ohno serenely, obviously with no idea what Nino is angry about. “So...where were we?”

“I honestly have no idea, Oh-chan,” replies Nino, woefully. “What do _you_ think?”

“Mm. Can't remember. Sorry...” Nino rolls his eyes. “If you were _here_ , though,” Ohno continues, and Nino blinks, because without a second's preparation or hesitation that sexy little voice is back. “I'd make it up to you, Nino.”

“Oh?” Now it's Nino's turn to sound dumb.

“Anything you want.” Ohno's breathing is beginning to accelerate again, as if a maddening five minute intermission hadn't just occurred. “You can hold me, kiss me, I'd even go d -”

“Right, ok, that's fine!” interrupts Nino in an unnaturally squeaky tone. “Enough talking for now, ok, Oh-chan?” He's sure Ohno has no idea what he's saying, and would really prefer not to get over-excited in the break room or have Watanabe Ken wander in and be scarred for life by seeing him with a total hard-on. This reasoning would be wasted on Ohno, though, so Nino opts for crossing his legs and taking the reins of the conversation again.

“Touch yourself,” he whispers, the heat buzzing through him nervously. He rubs the back of his neck, shooting wary glances at the door. “One hand.” Ohno gives a pleased purr. “From your throat to your belly button, and no lower...are you listening, Oh-chan?”

“Mmn.”

“ _And no lower_ ,” Nino repeats. He catches his breath for a minute, trying to picture exactly what Ohno's doing with his hands. _God, those hands_ , he thinks distractedly. He's imagined them a hundred times, long, elegant fingers twisting in his hair, drifting downwards to caress him. Nino has never met anyone else with such multi-talented extremities, and he's certain that, if persuaded to it, Ohno could take them and rock Nino's world in the space of about thirty seconds.

“Aren't you gonna let me...go further?” breaks in Ohno, voice uneven and slightly petulant. “ _Please_ , Nino.”

Nino thinks that if Ohno would just stop saying his name like that then he could hold out a lot longer, but he's weak to that pleading tone and the short catches of breath filtering through to his ear.

“Alright,” he mutters, relenting. “Walk your fingers down...not too fast, let's not get ahead of ourselves here...” Ohno lets out a faint whimper of impatience, which Nino ignores, frantically inventing. “Now just...stroke your legs a bit, like I do for you sometimes. Imagine it's me,” Nino whispers, imagining it himself and feeling audacious for suggesting it. The _noises_ Ohno's making...they must be for show, surely, he thinks light-headedly; _no-one_ sounds that ridiculously sexy by accident.

“Ok,” he says softly, when he thinks Ohno might be nearing the stage of actually getting annoyed rather than anticipatory, “touch yourself, slowly. Yeah, _there_ , Oh-chan.” Ohno gives an unashamed groan of pleasure, and Nino lets a mild curse escape under his breath. “Ahh...good boy.”

“Nnn... _Talk to me_...it feels so...” Ohno breathes, when Nino has spent several moments in silence listening to him. Nino digs his short nails into his palm to remind himself that this is actually happening, and proceeds to give instructions as best he can without being able to see his leader, judging how everything feels by Ohno's moans.

“ _Faster_...no, not that fast, honey, you don't want to hurt yourself. Um...look, wedge the phone between your shoulder and your ear. Ok? Ok. Use your other hand too, then. Stroke your chest. Ahh, Leader, if you remember any of this when I get home, I'm gonna show you how to _really_ get off -”

And at this point Nino breaks off with a start, because about seven other cast members have just sauntered into the room, chatting sleepily and jostling for their belongings.

“Er,” he continues, almost seamlessly, “so just tell him if it's still blocked he'll have to open up the faucet under the sink.” Somewhere in the background he hear's Ohno's bewildered ' _huh?_ ', and shuts his eyes despairingly. “How the hell should I know? Tell him to call a real plumber,” he finishes helplessly, as people mill around him.

“Nino?” comes the confused little voice in his ear.

“Hey, Ninomiya-kun, you coming?” demands Kase Ryo, elbowing him jovially in the head on his way past, in total defiance of his on-screen character.

“I'll catch up later,” lies Nino, waving him on. _Go, go_ , he urges them all silently, while on the other end of the phone Ohno is still asking “Nino? Are you still there? Can you hear me?”

“Yes, yes,” Nino replies, trying to sound both soothing and like he's dealing with a tricky plumbing problem. “No, I don't know their number, ask Sho.” Behind him various voices rise in a babble of discussion over where to eat.

“Oh,” murmurs Ohno thoughtfully, sadly, finally catching on, while Nino is still trying to explain to a phantom Aiba-in-distress what to do about his sink issue. “I'll just do it myself, then, shall I?”

“Whoa there!” Nino sticks his forehead in his hand, trying not to scream as people start talking at him from all sides. Matsuzaki has reappeared to retrieve his jacket, and is shooting Nino doubtful you're-way-past-eccentric-even-for-an-idol glances. Kase is _still_ here, trying to involve him in the breakfast/dinner debate; and in his ear Ohno is enjoying himself, making sounds that Nino is certain he's invented purely to send the shivers racing up his spine, and describing between gasps exactly what he's doing to himself.

_Fuck this whole shebang_ , Nino thinks desperately, sure that he's about to either lose his temper in an epic fashion or start laughing hysterically. He looks around for a way to escape.

“I'm saying steak tonight, you with me?” demands Kase.

“'Scuse me,” mutters Matsuzaki, reaching tentatively past Nino for his sunglasses.

“ _I want you, I want you_ ,” Ohno is whispering deliriously down the phone, “come _on_ , Nino, I'm nearly there...”

“ _Wait!_ ” exclaims Nino, not sure he can get another word in, but surprisingly he can hear himself quite well. He turns round. All of a sudden, the room is empty, everyone apparently having tired of his procrastinating. Nino could cry with relief, but no time, because judging by the silence Ohno is holding his breath, and for a wonder is actually waiting.

“They're gone,” he tells the older man, who exhales delightedly.

“Can...I finish then?” Ohno begs.

“Yeah,” answers Nino feverishly, ignoring the beginnings of a stress headache, “yeah, Oh-chan, go as fast as you like.”

“Aahh...” Ohno doesn't waste any time in resuming, and Nino can hear skin moving on skin.

“Come when you want,” Nino instructs in a whisper. “Just...let me hear you.”

Ohno doesn't answer him, but Nino doesn't mind. Having run out of helpful things to say, all his energy is going towards listening, trying to fit sounds to movements, trying to imagine Ohno at this moment, sweet round face and slender body damp and slick with sweat, dark eyes half closed, white teeth sinking into his perfect bottom lip.

“ _Nino!_ ” Ohno murmurs beatifically, and that's the last coherent word he manages. Nino hears his leader whimper once through gritted teeth, and then nothing, just his body moving against the bed; and realises, to his immense mental and physical consternation, that when Ohno orgasms he is completely silent.

_Perfect_ , he thinks sourly, listening with toe-curling eagerness for the smallest sound. He notices that, despite his best efforts, he has a hard-on, which is unlikely to be satisfied any time soon; he leans his head back against the sofa with a thud.

“ _Oh-chan_ ,” he says ruefully. And _now_ he can hear Ohno, taking deep, slow breaths to calm himself down. “Typical.”

“Mmm,” comes Ohno's voice, tipsy, incoherent, complacent. “You were 'mazing.”

“There is nothing about this phone call that could be considered amazing,” Nino corrects him dolefully. “When I think how much it's gonna _cost_...”

“It was worth it, right?” Ohno murmurs, playfully, lazily, and Nino thinks with a kind of dismal satisfaction, _this is what Leader's like after sex. When he's only drunk he goes right to sleep_. So it's been a learning experience, if nothing else.

“It's never been like _that_ before,” Ohno comments.

“I'm sure it hasn't,” replies Nino drily. “Not many girls I know have to please their man while being six thousand miles away _and_ in front of half a movie cast at the same time!”

“Was good. _Felt_ good.” Ohno mumbles something else at him reassuringly, but Nino's almost given up listening.

“Captain. Shower, glass of water, sleep,” he says severely.

“Mm-hmm.”

“Now,” nags Nino, suddenly feeling like a long-suffering wife with none of the benefits. “Or I will personally wake up Jun _right this minute_ and have him come and get you in the morning.”

“Guh. Ok, 'm going, I'm going.” Nino hears him heave himself upright unsteadily, and winces pre-emptively, waiting for Ohno to walk into something.

“Whoops.”

A bang, uncomfortably loud. Nino jumps slightly, worriedly. No, that would be the cell phone hitting the floor.

“Oh-chan?” Nino waits for Ohno to pick it up, and hears...nothing. He waits another few seconds, and dimly catches the bathroom door slamming. He smiles a bit, and is sad a bit: if Ohno can't even remember he was _on_ the phone, the odds of him recalling what just happened in the morning are fifty-fifty, at best. Nino sighs heavily.

“Sleep tight, Oh-chan.”

He slowly presses 'End', his mouth turned down a little at the corners. _I just had phone sex_ , he thinks incredulously, unable to suppress a disbelieving snort. And then, _wait, is that really how it's supposed to go?_ He's an amateur, he knows, but he's pretty sure he's meant to get something out of this as well as Ohno. Shoving his phone into his pocket, he's reminded of the continuing uncomfortable situation in his pants. Nino swears, at Ohno and himself and the distance between them in general, wraps his jacket around himself and stalks out.

After a few yards, he gives up on stalking in favour of a furtive shuffle to the nearest bathroom, where he can extract the few precious erotic moments of the evening, and ignore until tomorrow the consequences of what he and his beloved, idiotic leader might have just set in motion.


	4. Chapter 4

Ohno doesn't call.

Nino waits as long as he thinks is reasonable, namely three days, jittering the whole while and reminding himself that he's not a sixteen year old girl, and that his friends are at perfect liberty to get off any way they please without worrying about fallout; and then gives up and phones Ohno himself. Who doesn't pick up. Or text back. Or show any signs of being alive at all. _He remembers_ , Nino thinks, miserable and excited and terrified all at once, as he closes his cell phone for the third time in a row. He's not sure _what_ Ohno can recall: the way Nino fumbled through the farcical exchange, possibly humiliating both of them along the way; or the dangerous pleasure of it, the confession, the soft words, Ohno's breath hitching as his hands moved over damp skin?

Which leaves Nino with two possibilities: either Ohno is so embarrassed by the way it panned out, how drunk he was, and so on, that he's sensibly avoiding a cringeworthy morning-after conversation until he can think of something useful to say; or, and this is much worse, he regrets the whole fiasco: finding out for good and all that Nino wants him, because now he's sober he knows he'll never be able to look at him the same way again.

Left with these options, Nino is about ready to tear his hair out, or burst into tears in the make-up room, neither of which is suitably manly for the boys-club atmosphere of this shoot, especially when Eastwood and his assistants are still peering at him during breaks and making what look like biological fieldnotes. However, before he does something drastic like eat his script, jump into the sea and start swimming for Tokyo, Sho calls.

“What's up _your_ ass?” demands Sho from the News Zero green room, still nervy and new to the programme and mildly affronted by Nino's ungracious 'what?' as he answers the phone.

“Nothing,” lies Nino, softening a bit. “Sooo...where's Captain these days?”

“And how are _you_ , Sho?” fills in the rapper gloomily. “Thank you _so much_ for calling America during your rare moment of freedom. Honestly,” he continues, “as far as you two are concerned I might as well be invisible!”

“Uh-huh. I've been trying to call him.” Nino ignores the diatribe, knowing Sho would expect nothing less.

“Tch. Well good luck to you,” says Sho, grumpily. “He's had the last two days off.”

“I don't see what -”

“He's doing _art_ ,” Sho explains, and Nino heaves a relieved sigh. That accounts for a lot. “And don't bother asking what, I haven't heard a peep out of him since we finished this week's show. Presumably his mother's feeding him,” says Sho baldly, sounding as if Ohno could be dead in a ditch for all he cares. Nino sniggers, knowing how Sho likes to be kept in the loop of what his bandmates are doing and how annoyed he gets when they ignore him.

“Just...swing by and check on him,” Nino suggests, after he's finished winding up his friend. “See if he's...you know, ok.”

“Fine.” Sho sounds vaguely suspicious. “You're coming home in a fortnight anyway, you know.”

“I'm not going two weeks without talking to Oh-chan,” Nino states flatly, and can practically hear Sho roll his eyes. “So make him pick up his phone.”

Sho reluctantly acquiesces, muttering something about how trying to get Leader to act like a socially responsible human when he's in artistic mode is like trying to herd cats.

“Thanks,” says Nino, meaning it for once.

“Yeah, yeah.” Sho calls a question to someone else in the room. “Gotta go,” he says hurriedly. “Call him tomorrow, he'll answer.” A click, and the dial tone.

“Bye,” says Nino, sarcastically, tired of his bandmates hanging up on him.

 _Art_. He shakes his head and smiles.

  
 

* * *

 

Nino does call, after that, and it's _normal_ , as if nothing had happened at all; he can't work out whether to be relieved or disappointed; mostly relieved, he decides, having narrowly escaped dropping into full-blown angst. Ohno seems a little distracted, but that could mean anything, or nothing at all, and doesn't stop him giggling his way through Nino's acerbic anecdotes for a good half hour.

So it's not that Nino forgets about it; how can he, the memory practically slaps him in the face whenever he closes his eyes, the crazy sweetness of it – but he still has a job to do, and it's not like Ohno is going anywhere. Nino reflects on this resignedly between takes one morning, sneaking surreptitious looks at his picture, as usual. He should be concentrating on his pretty 'wife', actually, seeing as it's _her_ Saigo's meant to be brooding over in this scene, and in normal circumstances Nino wouldn't mind hitting that even in real life; but focusing has never been harder. Just the thought of his leader's soft little moans, his _voice_ -

“ _Ninomiya-kun_.”

Nino gives a guilty start and turns to stare blankly at his interpreter, suddenly aware that somebody has been speaking. Miwako purses her lips, cursed with professional fortitude, and Nino blinks once before registering that the director is standing next to her, waiting hopefully for an answer with raised eyebrows.

“Huh?” says Nino, eloquently, and Eastwood smiles a little and repeats the question.

“Mr Eastwood wonders,” Miwako translates for the second, or maybe the third time, “who it is you're always looking at.”

“Oh.” Nino wonders how brave he'd have to be to say 'none of your business' to Clint Eastwood, and shrugs. “That's my captain.”

Miwako relays this to the director, who looks puzzled, as well he might, because outside the magic circle of Arashi (all right, and a few hundred thousand fans), the terminology means nothing.

“...Someone special,” states Nino with finality, folding up the photo hurriedly before he's asked for any further clarification. They both look at him curiously, and he finds himself blushing, not because he's ashamed but because he's surprised at how good it feels to actually say something like that in the real world and mean it.

Eastwood is grinning, and giving Nino that appraising look again, talking earnestly at him.

“He says,” Miwako repeats thoughtfully, “that you're back on in five minutes. And whoever it is you're thinking about, every break, every day...bring that face with you.” The director nods along to her translation while Nino gawps at her. “He means,” she says, “that face you make...no, not that one, that's just gormless...that's what he wants: when Saigo's thinking of his wife back at home, it's that expression he should wear, the yearning, the worry, like you'll break with wanting something you can't reach. Right?”

“...Is that really what I look like?” Nino is vaguely appalled to think that such a parade of sentiment could march across his face without his say-so.

“His words, not mine.” His interpreter puts her hands in the air. “ _I_ just thought it made you look a bit...well, dim.”

“Thanks a lot.”

“In any case. That's exactly what he says he wants, nail on the head. So if you – Oh, he's gone.”

Nino blinks, still processing this, then jumps up and follows Eastwood, who is trailing actors, technicians and hangers-on in his wake like a comet. Obediently shuffling back into his cave, Nino tries to look yearning and worried in the desired fashion, which sparks only one reaction, and that from Kase wondering whether Nino has indigestion. They do another take, and Nino gives up trying, just stares into middle distance and slips into dreams of Ohno's arms around his neck, welcoming him home, soon, soon. He hears Eastwood's pleased exclamation, and manages to memorise what his own face is doing, contriving to work it into the scene.

Everyone is pleased with him, and he wonders why, because he was barely acting at all. The director is squeezing his shoulder in a friendly but slightly painful way, speaking loudly and slowly enough in English for even Nino to grasp it.

“You're real now. See? You're real.”

That night, Nino mails Ohno as usual.

_Congratulations, Leader. Today, you made Saigo._

To Ohno's single question mark answer, Nino replies, _Never mind, Oh-chan. I'll explain when I get home. Just...thank you._

He rolls over and shoves his face into the pillow, to hide the imbecilic grin that's threatening to blossom. A few more days, and home.

 

* * *

  
 

When Nino steps off the plane he's buzzed and fidgety and at the same time flat-out, dead tired. He lets his manager deal with the baggage carousel for once, though it's rare for him to admit, even for a moment, that he just can't cope with it. He gets through customs almost on automatic, worrying momentarily that he looks like he's got some odd virus, or is on drugs, or a combination thereof; but happily most of the other passengers are in a similarly zombie-like state, it being the middle of the night and an hour behind schedule.

As he trudges into the arrivals lounge Nino summons the energy to flick his eyes left and right, and almost immediately lets out a little moan of mixed affection and disbelief, because the first thing he sees is _Aiba_. It ought to be Ohno, thinks Nino with as much indignation as he can manage, before he does indeed spot his leader, waiting short and patient in the background of Aiba's ebullient welcome. He feels a fleeting guilt that his gaze didn't snap straight to the older man, that he hadn't felt him through some invisible connection of sheer desire; then again, it's hardly surprising, since Aiba is leaping straight up and down in an overflow of excitement, obviously having been forbidden to yell, waving a sign that is nothing but a square of yellow cardboard. It's hard to notice anyone else.

“Why _you_?” Nino grins when he gets close enough for Aiba to jump him, forcing him to drop his bags. Aiba settles for muffling his shout of greeting in Nino's short hair, sneezing at the prickly bristles and thumping his smaller bandmate painfully on the shoulder-blade.

“They wouldn't let all of us come and no-one else would stay up anyway!” Aiba informs Nino with brutal honesty, permanently breathless and sounding delighted. Nino tolerates a few more friendly punches before levering himself out of Aiba's grip.

“Nino,” says a quiet voice, and his heart flip-flops. He's completely awake now, and staring finally at an unimpeded view of Ohno, who is waiting his turn patiently, looking mild and worried and so very _ordinary_ that Nino wants to laugh; he wants to stare and stare and drink in every inch of Ohno, from his sleepy eyes to his toes, mentally check he's still the same Leader he's been imagining for weeks on end; but somehow his body won't allow his mind this kind of luxury, and has moved forward without permission to wrap Ohno in an almost claustrophobic embrace.

“ _Oh-chan_.” Ohno doesn't move for several seconds, as Nino's fingers slide through his hair, along the back of his neck, pressing flush against him. “How's my Oh-chan?” Nino whispers again, because he can't think of anything clever, anything momentous to say, it feels too good.

Finally, Ohno shifts, and Nino catches his breath as arms wind around his back, fingers almost painful as they dig into his weary skin.

“Mhm,” says Ohno, incoherently, pushing his face into Nino's shoulder.

 _He remembers_ , Nino thinks with a terrified thrill as he feels Ohno's body suddenly trembling against his. Ohno is breathing slowly, deeply into Nino's shirt, and when he finally raises his eyes he looks dizzy, clinging as if only Nino's body is keeping him from falling. Nino can't read a thing in those eyes, and can't look away; he doesn't have a clue how to end this embrace appropriately and in a way that won't cause a scandal in the middle of the airport. _Should I be...kissing him right now?_ he wonders, more than a little panicked because his body is acting all by itself again, and there's no telling what it might do. Ohno's long fingers are fisted in the fabric of his shirt.

Happily, at this moment Aiba proves his worth in Nino's eyes again by losing his patience and throwing himself between them, effectively ending the hug, which seems to hit Ohno with a jolt; he backs away, blinking rapidly.

“Presents please!” exclaims Aiba, almost panting with eagerness, one arm around Nino's shoulders and the other looking ready to start digging through his pockets.

“There aren't any,” Nino states, his senses still full of Ohno, who has moved cautiously to the periphery of his vision.

“Liar.” Aiba, undeterred, proceeds to get Nino in a headlock, shaking him like a puppy. Ohno stands serenely by, looking for all the world as if he wasn't just shivering and pressed against Nino like a war bride.

“All right!” Nino flails a hand behind him. “All right! They're in my hand luggage, just – get _off_ me, Masaki!” Having thrown this mollifying bone, Nino attempts to move towards the exit, abandoning his carry-on case to Aiba's clutches.

Behind him Nino catches the increasingly distant squeals of “ahh! Wow, what's this?! It's – Nino, this is your underwear...” He can't bring himself to raise a snigger, though, because Ohno has also turned his back on Aiba's enthusiastic rootlings, and is tailing Nino closely. Nino takes a deep breath, holds out a hand mutely, because he wants this too much to actually _say_ anything. Ohno gazes at it silently, as if he has no idea what it's for, then turns an amazingly unreadable stare on Nino's face. His full lips pinch for a moment in the familiar expression that makes him look about ten; then he takes Nino's hand.

By the time they reach the taxi rank, Nino has almost stopped sweating. Ohno's hand is cool and relaxed within his own, as if nothing untoward had ever happened between them, as if this wasn't some mutual acknowledgement of the existence of drunken, unwise international phone calls.

“Maybe...” starts Nino, waiting to see if he has the gumption to just ask Ohno to come home with him. Before he can work it into a sentence that doesn't sound desperately like _will you go to bed with me_ , however, Ohno has pulled his hand away, and used it to push Nino gently into the back of a taxi.

“Go home, go to sleep,” Ohno instructs him, as leader-like as he ever has been. “We'll see you in...two days. Ok? Good night. Ok.” And with that, the door shuts, Ohno steps back, his face pale under the lights even through the dark glass of the taxi window.

Nino starts to wind the window down, to say something, he's not quite sure what. He thinks he sees Ohno mouth the word _please_ , and stops. He starts to frown, then realises he's too tired even to feel properly confused. Maybe Ohno knows best for once. Though it would be nice to have his shoulder right about now...

Nino sighs, mumbles his address in the general direction of the driver, and falls asleep wondering whether he'll ever see his luggage again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There. Nino is back, and now everyone can start being immature face-to-face. Also, Sho seems to be turning into Eeyore, for no good reason.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nino is back, and everyone starts being bitchy. Even Ohno, insofar as he is able.

Everyone is pleased to see Nino back, and he would be nearly as pleased to see _them_ if they didn't insist on coming to his actual _apartment_ while he was still fighting the jet-lag and only semi-conscious. First Aiba, who he only saw...god, not even eight hours ago, closely followed by Nino's sister, who takes his laundry captive and leaves him with no socks. Then Sho, with a hug and thoughtful take-out food, blessedly calm after Aiba's whirlwind entrance and exit. Even Jun is quietly demonstrative the next day, pinching Nino's ear between fingernails still tacky with polish.

“You missed me, then,” manages Nino drily, collapsing back to the sofa.

“Some of us did.” Matsujun eyes him enigmatically, then lets his gaze roam around the room, because Nino likes his privacy and it's a rare day they get invited in.

“Tidy if you want,” Nino tells him magnanimously. The taller man loses his momentary fight with OCD, and sets off to hunt down a duster. Nino goes back to sleep.

He doesn't see Ohno again until they're back at work, which is most likely a good thing because Nino still doesn't know where they stand or how to behave, or if he can look at Ohno's face in the bare light of day and not think about what he sounds like whimpering with pleasure. He decides to opt for normal, cautious normal, and sits on his hands.

Ohno wanders in, early as usual, already in his G no Arashi outfit, and goes to sit primly beside Nino, throwing him a good-natured nod. They sit quietly for a while, adjusting back into the feeling of Arashi, being whole again as a unit. Nino, sighing, wonders whether this doesn't constitute a backwards instead of a forwards in their relationship; he feels like he did after they debuted, when it was still a matter for debate whether his hand and Ohno's ass belonged in the same vicinity or not.

“I wanted to go back with you,” Ohno tells him casually, out of nowhere, and Nino frowns, because he seems to have missed half a conversation, “but -”

“Yup,” replies Nino, quickly catching up, heart sinking because Ohno remembers, he _remembers_ and he's going to bring it up, say it was a mistake, because Ohno does not have the social skills to know when to let something go, especially at this time in the morning.

Nino tenses, waiting for him to finish his thought. Then Ohno is up in his space, which is not unusual, and of his own volition, which is. Now it's Nino's turn to blink stupidly as Ohno's arm curls around his shoulders, and a warm side presses up against him.

“Yo,” says Ohno to Aiba, who has just trotted in, ignoring Nino's muscles frozen beneath his own. His hand traces the line of Nino's jaw idly.

“Where's the camera?” asks Sho guardedly, hot on Aiba's heels with his regulation newspapers, staring at this bizarrely tactile Leader with narrowed, pre-coffee eyes. It's a good point, thinks Nino, trying to remember to breathe properly and not have an inappropriate reaction to Ohno's sudden closeness; _he_ may be all over Ohno, all the time, but the older man rarely initiates skinship without there being outside eyes around to benefit.

Ohno snuggles further into him, and Nino wonders what it all means. He feels the dangerous flutter of hope, deep in his stomach.

 

* * *

 

 

Hope is all very well, Nino thinks some days later, as they wait patiently to be called for _Popolo's_ individual shots. But what should he actually _do_ about it? Ohno seems perfectly content to use Nino as a novelty squeeze-toy forever more, and it's getting to be almost as frustrating as the complete passivity he usually displays.

“Leader...”

Ohno rubs his nose against Nino's bristly hair. _So now I'm a scratching post, too_ , thinks Nino, as the older man purrs contentedly. He wants to _do_ something; but getting it on over the phone with your drunk friend and trying to initiate it in real life with a sober one are vastly, dangerously different, and the gap between them seems insurmountable right now.

“Your fingers are so cute,” says Ohno for the umpteenth time as he fiddles with Nino's hands, measuring them against his own slender digits and grinning inanely, while Nino relishes the contact with his cool, smooth skin. “Baby fingers.”

“You don't say that when they're pinching your butt,” replies Nino, more nonchalantly than he feels, giving a practical demonstration for effect and for the benefit of the assistant cameramen setting up around them. This earns him the normal look of patronising amusement from Matsujun; but Ohno, instead of the patient shift away that generally follows groping, keeps quiet and pushes closer into Nino's space as if it had no significance at all.

 _God, don't wriggle_ , thinks Nino, making a face as the older man presses up comfortably against his side, and willing various parts of his body to keep still. He almost laughs to himself, reflecting that at one time he'd have been delighted by this much affirmative action on Ohno's part, and trying to remember what it felt like not to be so inconveniently turned on every time they were in close proximity.

“Oi, pay attention!” Sho's disgruntled voice cuts in on his discomfort, and Nino blinks and barely misses the clipboard aimed at his head. “You might at least pretend to be interested in what you're filming tomorrow.”

Matsujun raises his eyebrows and sticks one leg out to elegantly kick Aiba, who is deeply involved with Nino's DS and far from alongside the conversation himself.

“I'm sure he will, once Leader's finished giving him a lapdance.”

Aiba raises his head for half a second, blows out his cheeks as if to say he doesn't see anything new in that, and returns to being pummelled in electronic form. Ohno huffs a bit, and blushes, and slides away from Nino, slipping him a smile that's reassuringly spacey and yet slightly too sexy to be right. Nino shuts his eyes and decides to ignore the rest of the world for a while, something that seems to work so well for his leader. Sho gives up, sighs, undoes another button on his shirt, and wanders off to charm a passing sub-editor with a judicious mix of heavenly pectorals and an in-depth explanation of the Nikkei stock market index.

It's a long, long shoot, Nino reflects dolefully after a couple of hours, flicking the irritating fronds of his overlong scarf over his shoulder. He hears a faint splutter as they connect with someone's face; no prizes for guessing who, Nino thinks, and hunches over protectively in a way that would earn him a smack from his dance coach. Then Ohno's arms sneak around his waist, and Nino pretends to be more interested in Sho's poses on the sofa in front of him than the heat of the other man's body behind him, because this kind of thing has been escalating for days with no sign of a climax.

Nino swallows, trying not to think about words like 'climax' in connection with Ohno, and stares dispassionately instead at Sho's remarkable ass. When he glances down, however, Ohno's hands are resting casually on his belt buckle, long fingers tracing around the metal; Ohno's round chin digs into his shoulder as he leans against Nino's back heavily, comfortably.

“You wanna get dinner tonight?” Nino asks without looking round, then sucks in a breath and holds it when Ohno's thumbs brush across his belly button beneath the shirt. Nino has given up wondering what this aggressively tactile touching means, but he's never been less immune to the effects of it.

“Hmm?”

Nino repeats the question, wanting an answer before Ohno's fingers wander any further and find their way down his pants.

“Sorry,” says Ohno happily, breath tickling his ear, “I've got sukiyaki at home tonight.” Then he disentangles himself briskly, leaving Nino's back cold and his lower regions uncomfortably warm. Out of the corner of his eye Nino can see Matsujun, who is pretending to read _Myojo_ while clearly experiencing a pleasant _schadenfreude_ at his discomfort. Nino quickly whips his middle finger up at his smirking bandmate, then pushes off to do his own photoshoot and wonder desperately how much longer his own hands will remain under his control.

 

* * *

 

 _Not long_ , is the inevitable conclusion, one that is very speedily reached in a matter of days.

This time it's too much, thinks Nino, wilting visibly under the strain of a four-hour dance practice and his leader's relentless ministrations. Today it's not just touching, as if having Ohno's sweat-damp skin slick against his own in a too-friendly hug wasn't erotic enough; it's _whispering_ as well, coy little jokes and observations apropos of nothing, Ohno's breath stirring his hair, he's that close. Nino folds his arms, ignores it, continues his caustic praise of Matsujun's latest solo.

“Not better than the way _we_ dance,” Ohno murmurs, all fake indignation, draped across Nino like a second skin. Nino can't see the perfectly constructed pout, he's carefully looking the other way, until he jumps and freezes as he feels a sharp nip against the soft flesh of his earlobe, the delicate rasp of a tongue.

He just _bit_ me, Nino thinks, aghast, clapping one hand to his ear and turning to gape at Ohno, who is smiling at him absently, round face glowing tell-tale red.

“That's it,” announces Nino to no-one in particular, certain his ears are burning and not just from the bite. “Enough.” He grabs Ohno's wrist, doesn't have to reach far, suppressing a quick flashback to their pre-America airport scene and dismissing it with an embarrassed shudder. Ohno takes a breath, doesn't resist, and in the time it takes to say ' _what are you thinking, you idiot?!_ ', Nino has slipped out the studio door and is marching them through the dark halls of the building.

“In there,” he orders, pushing the ambling Ohno into the first likely-looking room he sees. Once Nino has followed him in he realises this is in fact a closet, for some inexplicable reason full of stacked chairs and exam desks. Ah well. He doesn't need space for this.

“Oh-chan,” he begins, slapping on the light switch as if it had done him a personal injustice. A solitary bulb flickers into life above them. “We'd better talk about some stuff.”

Ohno is watching him seriously, as though he has no idea what Nino is getting at, just trusting that there is amusement to be derived from squeezing into a cupboard.

“Stuff?” asks Ohno, and if that isn't the voice of genuine innocence then Nino will eat his own shoes. He sighs, deciding to start off with a demonstration, because Ohno always responds better to touch than to words. That sorted, Nino's hands make a beeline for his leader, fingernails trailing across his stomach over the fabric of his tshirt, sliding down to tug Ohno's slim hips firmly against his own.

“ _This_...stuff,” Nino explains, controlling every breath into evenness. He thinks he has about ten seconds, twenty max, before he gets hard, and even Ohno can't pretend not to know what _that_ is.

“Is this still skinship?” Ohno asks tentatively, backed up against a desk, dark eyes wide and serious.

“Certainly,” says Nino firmly, and in a surprisingly macho moment picks Ohno up bodily and plonks him down on the edge of the table. Nino worms his way between Ohno's knees before the older man can do more than blink once or twice, and slides his hands slowly over his waist.

“What we did together while I was away,” he begins, ignoring how confused that sounds and the worried contraction of Ohno's eyebrows, “we don't have to talk about it if you don't want.” Ohno is looking perplexed, but given that this is his default expression Nino doesn't lose heart. “It would be rude to just ignore it, though, don't you think?”

“I...” Ohno's breath is coming quickly; Nino can feel the heat radiating off him, and just like that, he decides. Before his leader can form the rest of the sentence, which might takes minutes, he darts in to kiss him because he's tired of this confession game: Ohno knows, and not only that but Ohno knows that _he_ knows that he...whatever. Nino gives a little mutter of frustration because in that moment of semantic juggling Ohno has turned his head aside in a panicked reflex action, and Nino's lips end up grazing his throat instead.

“Oh-chan -”

Nino shrugs to himself and parts his mouth against the soft skin of Ohno's neck, not being the kind of person to waste such an opportunity. Ohno tastes of salt, and nervousness, smooth beneath Nino's tongue, and the _scent_ of him...Nino could drink it in forever.

“Dammit...” Ohno tilts his head back with a sharp exhalation, letting Nino kiss along the soft curve of his jaw, and wraps his arms almost thoughtlessly around his shoulders, those perfectly manicured nails teasing against the nape of Nino's neck.

“Closer,” is all Nino can say, with a growl that sounds embarrassingly out of control, hands sliding down to grab his ass and tug him forward with a jolt, still kissing every inch of available skin he can see because Ohno is warm and so pliant and he's never felt anything like it, the pulse in his leader's neck blurring beneath his lips. Ohno presses up against him, lithe as a cat, not even breathing space between them as his thighs curl around Nino's hips, his mouth making half-formed shapes of words against Nino's hair, who rocks lightly against him to hear him groan.

Nino can sense people moving in the corridor outside, feels Ohno freeze. He lets himself up for air; Ohno's face is flushed, looking absolutely ready to be kissed in Nino's humble opinion; but he has his mouth tight shut, lips pursed against any sounds of pleasure that might escape as Nino's hands snoop nosily across his stomach, his legs.

“ _Come on_ , Oh-chan.” Nino whispers it, goading, shakily, his mouth an inch from his leader's. “I know you want this too.” His left hand finds a small, hard nipple, squeezing down gently until the older man opens his mouth with a whimper of protest. Nino dives in, and is _this close_ to finally kissing him, and -

“No,” says Ohno gutturally, desperately, “ _no_.” He pushes hard against Nino's chest, wriggling free of his embrace to jump down from the table, stumbling a bit as his sneakers hit the floor.

Nino stares at him, not knowing what to do with his hands, balling them into fists by his sides. For the first time in their long life together, Ohno looks scared of him, white teeth biting down and twisting his plump bottom lip, and Nino wonders what expression must be on his own face for the other man to look at him that way.

“I won't hurt you,” he blurts out, voice small and offended, and then wonders why he felt the need to say it.

Ohno gives him a look that seems to go right through him, his round face now pale beneath its faint tan, eyes full up with too many things for Nino to even begin reading.

“No,” he agrees in a whisper, voice shaking even though his gaze is steady and uncomfortably piercing. “You won't. This...is not...a good idea.”

“Leader, I -”

“Never mind,” says Ohno flatly, drawing himself up until he's on a level with Nino. He's trembling like prey. “Never mind. Just...”

Not finishing, he turns on his heel and leaves quietly, without melodrama and without pulling the door off its hinges, which is what Nino almost manages when he follows him. When Nino steps into the corridor, turned on and fuming and feeling totally pathetic, Ohno is gone.


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ohno is a cocktease, and is surprisingly good at it.

Nino doesn't get a lot of sleep that night for wondering where he went wrong. He'd had reasonable encouragement, hadn't he, dammit? It had been so _good_ , and he knows Ohno had felt the same, from the memory of legs and arms twined around him, breath shaking in his ear. Nino heaves himself out of bed, quickly gets himself off in the bathroom, and then concludes that maybe they should have talked about it first, after all; he resolves to corner the older man in some non-threatening manner the next time they meet and finally work out what it is that Ohno _wants_ , before he falls down dead with frustration.

He doesn't even get a chance. Ohno has reacted, rather shrewdly if immaturely, by getting a girlfriend from somewhere, as Matsujun informs him delightedly. Nino's jaw hits the floor, and he can't, he _can't_ say anything now, because isn't that a message that reads 'stay the hell away from me' as clearly as if Ohno had written it in foot-high letters on the side of the Jimusho?

Everyone seems so happy for their leader, perhaps hoping that his relationship will be less full of breakups and too-graphic tales of passionate make-up sex than Aiba's. Ohno smiles his usual smile, meets Nino's eyes – there's nothing there, no guilt or embarrassment, just a careful, neutral wall and sometimes the barest flash of confusion, well hidden.

Ohno rarely talks about her, in the next few weeks, but somehow manages to let everybody know just how well things are going, and obviously Nino is the _only_ person in the Jimusho with whom to discuss Leader's love life – that's how it feels, anyway. Nino wonders whether, if their positions had been reversed, he could have done something like this to Ohno. Maybe he could have, once, and he wonders again when things changed, when this supposedly pure and altruistic adoration he had for his leader turned into _this_ , this hungry, furious, selfish _wanting_.

Somehow, Nino manages not to blame Ohno – for once, the older man is taking the sensible decisions, because honestly, who knows what hardships a relationship with Nino would bring in this horribly public idol world – but it's hard. Ohno just smiles and smiles, and _knows_ , and it's cruel. All the same, Nino makes a valiant effort to tamp down the unhappiness he can feel welling up every time Ohno doesn't sit beside him: although passionate melodrama is all very well in manga and cheesy TV shows, Nino knows that in reality there is nothing more tedious for one's friends than to have a real-life version inflicted on them.

And all the while, he feels lost, somehow, especially before the bright lights of the cameras, without the familiar anchor of Ohno's receptive body to steady him. Ohno's warmth, Nino thinks numbly, is radiating for someone else now.

After a little while of this forbearance, however, something changes again, as Nino concedes after a week spent thinking he's imagining things, or going mad, or both: Ohno is staring at him from under lowered eyelashes whenever he thinks Nino isn't looking, biting his lip; he's brushing past him just a little too close, and being accidentally pushed up against him in crowded elevators.

All in all, it feels to Nino like a weird reversal of roles, and that Ohno is acting more Nino-ish these days than he is himself.

It's also pure torture.

Nino sits with the others, watching the rehearsal, and sourly ponders the differences between them. Unlike himself and Matsujun, who use their charm like a finely honed and perfectly controlled tool, Ohno radiates it clumsily, all the time and without thought, which just makes it all the more adorable in Nino's opinion. This, though, this is something different, and frankly it's annoying the hell out of him right now.

Unlike his everyday attractiveness, which is mostly inadvertent, Ohno's solos are invariably, deliberately sexy; nothing vague, nothing _cute_ ; once he actually gets to grips with the choreography Ohno dances like the devil, all fluid twists and slides and sharp, precise flicks of the hips. Nino has watched him rehearse innumerable times, has seen the moment it all fits together, and when Ohno looks at him then, he thinks he could ignite beneath the heat of his gaze.

It's still just as erotic, and Nino can't help but stare, face twisted in a scowl because this time Ohno must be dancing for _her_. As he watches, Ohno finishes, nods to himself and switches with Aiba. Face and arms lightly shimmering with sweat, Ohno slings a towel around his neck and cards one hand through his hair, before looking over at Nino and catching him staring.

“Nino.” Ohno strolls over to him as Aiba's music begins, smiling gently. He slides one arm around Nino's neck from behind, sending a ripple of nostalgia and suspicion through the younger man. “Was I good?”

“Yes,” says Nino tightly, because Sho is looking in their direction over his newspaper. Ohno presses lightly against his back, tense and edgy and taunting.

“It's all right to want me,” Ohno whispers, his palm splayed flat for a moment over Nino's collarbone. “But that's all.” Then he's off to giggle at Aiba, who still can't remember his steps.

Nino stands staring at nothing for a minute, remembering with a curse that Ohno is not as utterly simple as he generally appears, and blinking under the realisation that he can be as sly and selfish as Nino himself when he wants to.  
  
  


* * *

 

 

Ohno has a big date that night, as everybody from Sho down to the wardrobe girls seem to think it necessary to inform him. Nino stays in, eating yakisoba and weighing the odds that this is some intricate procedure ordered by the higher-ups every time they need to prevent inter-band relationships within Johnny's. Surely not. That's far too conspiracy-theory even for Aiba. Maybe the girlfriend option isn't such a bad one, Nino thinks, for the distraction of physical release if nothing else, and wonders where he can get one on such short notice.

He could almost get used to the situation, _almost_ , if only Ohno wasn't right next to him every day, dancing happily away, getting changed in front of him and accidentally-on-purpose brushing up against him in corridors. It could almost be innocent. _Almost_. But it's not.

Nino slouches back in his armchair and half-heartedly waves the TV remote in the direction of the baseball game he just can't get interested in. Then his cell phone rings, and he jumps. Quite understandably, Nino has come to treat phone calls with extreme suspicion, seeing the mess they've gotten him into, and the current likelihood that it will be one of his bandmates simply _desperate_ to talk about Leader and his cock-blocking girlfriend.

“Yeah?” Nino gives up and answers the phone, digging around for it among the cushions. He hears a breath, and freezes. “Ohno,” he says eventually, resignedly. “Why are you calling me at this time of night?”

No answer for a minute – Nino checks his phone display, belatedly, and it _is_ him – and then Ohno lets out a sigh.

“Nino,” he mumbles, and Nino's heart sinks because Ohno is drunk again, and miserable. “Nino, we broke up.”

“Already,” says Nino, not caring, slamming up walls of caution around himself because he's weak even now to Ohno's unhappiness, and this is dangerous. “What happened, then?”

A harsh sigh and the clink of glass. “Didn't work.”

“Uh-huh.” Nino wonders why he's being told this at all; Ohno never usually bothers informing band members about his lovers, for which everyone is thankful because Aiba's love life is enough for all five of them. Maybe Ohno really was serious about her, though why he should be so eager to tell Nino about this break-up is beyond him.

“'S because of _you_ ,” Ohno continues in a vaguely accusatory voice. “It's really...”

“What?” says Nino, on his guard against another of his leader's delicate stabs of cruelty. “What did I do now?” He hears a door slam on the other end of the line, too loud.

“...Are you by yourself?” asks Ohno after a while. “Nino?”

_Stop saying my name_ , thinks Nino, loving the sound of it far too much even when Ohno slurs it, even after everything.

“What about it?”

“...Talk to me.” Nino experiences a sharp pang of _deja-vu_ , and gives his head a little shake to clear it.

“Oh-chan,” he begins warningly.

“I feel like shit,” Ohno tells him, and his voice drops, hushed and demanding. “ _Make it better_.”

“ _Fuck!_ ” Nino jumps out of his chair, furious, then remembers that Ohno is not actually there and there's no point, so falls back into it. “You'd better not mean what I think you mean,” he snarls down the phone, not quite able to believe that this conversation is trying to repeat itself for the second time in his life.

“You know exactly what I mean.”

“ _No_.”

“I know you still want me,” Ohno whispers, half accusing and half entreating. “When you look at me it _burns_.” Nino hears a muffled thud, _knows_ that he's fallen into bed, and starts to panic.

“Get up!” he orders, aghast. “ _Stop this_ , Satoshi.”

“I want you too.” A pause, and the faint sound of Ohno drinking, and the rustle of clothing.

_Hang up_ , Nino tells himself, disgusted with the way his cheeks are beginning to burn even though he has _never_ been this angry with the older man. _Don't do something you'll regret again_.

“You're drunk, Oh-chan,” he replies, ignoring that last statement, hating the tremor in his voice. “Go to sleep.”

“Don't want to,” says Ohno stubbornly, starting in with those quick, light breaths that break a sweat at Nino's temples because he knows what's causing it this time.

“I'll set Jun on you,” Nino warns, taking refuge in the last-ditch line of defence, which Ohno rightly ignores as pathetic. “I'm serious, Oh-chan, I'll -”

“Dammit,” mutters Ohno, cursing softly and letting out a little moan, “I love your voice...when you're angry.” More almost-silence, which Nino tries to stop himself listening to.

“You are such a bitch,” he says, almost under his breath.

“I learned from the master.”

Nino purses his lips, lets his head fall back, because it's too much effort to hold it up _and_ be resistant in the face of Ohno's arousal.

“You like thinking about me doing this, don'tcha?” Ohno is still drinking, Nino suspects, for him to suddenly be this bold. “Me naked, getting off...thinking about _you_.”

“Get bent, Ohno.”

“Come on. You do it...too.”

“No!” Nino clenches his free hand, giddy from the heat and effort of listening to Ohno calmly.

“If you don't like it,” Ohno whispers triumphantly, his breath coming in short gasps, “if you don't want me, then hang up.”

Nino almost laughs then, because that was what he'd been planning to do right up until this moment, and now it's too late, there's no question of will-power involved when he hears Ohno like this, so needy and so demanding that it be _him_. Even if this isn't real desire, just a stupid, drunken mistake, he finds he can't help it, remembering the sensation of his leader pressed against him, the smell, the taste of him. Before he's even noticed it Nino's eyes drop closed, the better to imagine Ohno's small body arched on the bed, skin flushed and damp, slender legs parted as he touches himself.

“You jerk,” he murmurs weakly, his own short, pale fingers tracing the line of his collar before falling to absently tug at the buttons of his shirt.

“Can't, can you?” breathes Ohno, and Nino's nails dig into skin in frustration.

“You don't want this,” Nino informs him dismally, a hitch in his own breath as his hand trails down his chest. “I'm _telling_ you.”

“What're you doing?” Ohno sounds excited, tentative, curious.

“Never mind,” says Nino shortly, trying to hide how aroused and how fucking _annoyed_ he is.

“Undo your pants,” Ohno orders, and Nino thinks that this, right here, is the most sordid thing he's ever done, knowing what his friend's reaction will be tomorrow, _knowing_ it from painful experience and still unable to rein in this ridiculous, lascivious desire. He undoes the buttons fast, fumbling, and pushes his pants off his hips without opening his eyes, stroking himself slowly with one hand and trying not to make any sound that Ohno could remember and use against him later.

“I can't hear,” complains Ohno, irregular whimpers drifting quietly down the phone to Nino.

“What do you... _want_?” demands Nino through his teeth, not wanting Ohno to hear his excitement even if he is drunk out of his mind. He's getting close embarrassingly fast; Ohno doesn't even have to be talking dirty, Nino thinks distractedly: just the thought of him, the sounds coming from him, are enough to make his toes curl.

“I want...” Ohno pauses to breathe slowly, deeply. “ _Nnn_...I want your hands, I want...your lips on me everywhere, fuck, Nino, I just _want_ you...”

Ohno is rambling now, is barely making sense; Nino dimly realises it and can't find it in himself to care as his hand moves faster, licking his lips, stifling an unrefined growl of pleasure. Ohno still hasn't shut up, a halting stream of ill-considered words assaulting Nino sweetly.

“Nino, please, talk to me...” The cell phone edge bites down into the soft flesh of Nino's palm as he presses it to his ear; Ohno won't _stop_. “You can do anything to me, anything, I know you want to, just _make me come_...”

“Fuck, Oh-chan!” It's too much for Nino, these appallingly sexy words spilling from the man he loves, this beautiful little idiot. “ _Shut up_.” And that's it, one little token protest and then he comes himself, accidentally biting his tongue so that the only sound conveyed to Ohno is an ungraceful yelp of mixed delight and pain. Nino swears to himself, chest heaving, tasting blood in his mouth, and wipes his hand absently on his shirt while his entire body relaxes bonelessly.

When he surfaces from the pleasant haze of having gotten off, Nino opens his eyes, blinks, groans as he sees what he's done to his shirt, and realises that he's dropped the phone. Heaving out a slow, delicious sigh he reaches down for it.

“You came...didn't you,” Ohno challenges him, low and breathless. “Aah...Because of _me_.”

“Holy bloody hell, Oh-chan,” groans Nino, “have you still not gotten there?!”

Ohno lets out a soft whine of dissent, Nino suspects for his benefit. “That's it,” decides Nino, sitting up and sorting himself out like lightning, “I'm coming round.”

“No!” exclaims Ohno; and then, scandalised, “my parents are downstairs!”

“You are twenty-five years old,” Nino reminds him, rolling his eyes. “If your mother can't cope with you wanting to get laid she should have kicked you out years ago. So just stay put.”

“ _No_ ,” repeats Ohno, and Nino can hear a different note in his voice, something that sounds like genuine panic.

“What's this now?” Nino feels the pleasant post-orgasmic complacency begin to ebb away when Ohno doesn't answer. “Come on, spit it out.”

“I...I don't want you here, not now” mumbles Ohno, and here comes that drop in the pit of Nino's stomach that he hates, even though he knew he would feel it from the moment he picked up the phone he still _hates_ it.

“And why the fuck not?” Nino knows the answer, actually, has known it all the way through this phone call and for many days before. He asks anyway, to see if Ohno has the guts to tell him straight.

“ _Forget it_.” Ohno sounds more miserable and frustrated than he did when Nino first answered the phone, which is hilarious, is it not, thinks Nino, who to his own surprise bursts out laughing, because it's either that or smash something or start crying.

“Don't laugh at me,” says Ohno resentfully, warily, as if Nino were about to do something unbelievably rash and stupid, as if he hasn't already.

“At _you_?” Nino giggles to himself, acid in the back of his throat, “oh, no, Oh-chan, you're the smart one this time, _you're_ the one getting what he wants when he wants because his best friend is too damn _stupid_ to resist it!”

“It's just a phone call,” says Ohno in a small voice.

“Come on,” snaps Nino, hardly believing what he's hearing, “we're way past that. You've been teasing me for _weeks_.”

“I -” begins Ohno, defensively, but now Nino has begun it seems very easy to keep going, and what's more it feels good.

“Well take note, Satoshi, because this is the last time.” Nino has jumped up without noticing and is pacing his living room fiercely, persuading himself that it's the truth as much as Ohno. “I don't care how dumb and fucking _cute_ you act, I don't care how much I like you, how much I want you; I am not your toy, and I am not your personal fucking sex line! So...” He flounders for a second, then finishes triumphantly, “...just fuck off!”

Ohno draws in an affronted breath, and Nino snaps his phone closed, fast, so he can have the last word, in case Ohno had come up with an answer to that devastating bit of Wildean repartée. He lets out a deep breath, noticing that he's quivering all over with adrenaline. He sinks back down into his chair and hyperventilates for a minute. _It had to be said_ , Nino tells himself, and it's a damn sight easier to say it down the phone, because if he had seen Ohno's face he knows he wouldn't have been able to do it.

Nino only manages to gloat for about thirty seconds, before the feeling wears off all at once as his brain kicks in. He takes stock of himself, and begins to sink: What does he have right now that he didn't have before all this started, months ago? A crappy hair-cut, high blood pressure and a sticky shirt. He's not convinced that anything on this list will be of any use against the vast, gaping space of what he _hasn't_ got: self-respect, dignity, or a best friend.

Nino puts his head in his hands, and waits for it all to go away.


	7. Chapter 7

Unsurprisingly, the universe does not oblige Nino by imploding by the time he gets to work the next morning, but it does grant him a summer rainstorm, soaking him en route from his car to the Jimusho. Everyone can feel the tension, he's convinced of it, even before Ohno puts in an appearance; Nino wouldn't be surprised if he looked in the mirror and saw a huge sign reading 'SHOT DOWN' right above his head. He sits over his coffee, his chest tight, growling so much that even Aiba looks affronted.  
 

Ohno arrives, a whisker away from being late. He looks terrible, and not just from the hangover. The others quickly augur that his date did not go as planned, and sensibly let him be. Ohno rubs his eyes, settles self-consciously on the sofa, and disappears behind one of Sho's newspapers, to the general amazement and consternation of everyone. Nino can practically feel the misery radiating from the older man, and is too angry to feel even a token sympathy.

 

“We should get to wardrobe,” says Jun, breaking the silence awkwardly. “I've got to be done by 11:30, I have a script meeting.”

They stand up and obediently file out. Ohno puts down his paper, turning towards the door, and Nino catches his stare full-on.

_Shit_ , he thinks. Ohno _wants_ him, and it couldn't be more clear if he was screaming it: those sweet brown eyes are filled with miserable, ill-suppressed desire, pale and furious as he fights something he knows, rationally, he shouldn't be this hungry for. Nino swallows, not used to seeing such an expression on a face that is designed for placid happiness.

“Oh-chan...I'm sorry -” he begins. _Sorry for all this_ , is what he meant to say, but it seems inadequate; if Nino was the one who began it, they're both to blame now.

“Just leave it,” whispers Ohno, lashes flickering down to hide his eyes. Nino hadn't known he could sound so unhappy, so venomous, and it snaps him into action.

“ _Idiot_ ,” he hisses, turning on his heel and walking out, his empty coffee cup thrown somewhere in the direction of the wall. “Who started this?!”

From the corner of his eye he sees Ohno's shoulders begin to shake.  
 

 

* * *

  
 

Nino gets through the morning somehow, Ohno doing a fairly good job of pretending he doesn't exist. He sends up a fervent prayer of thanks that they're off on their own after that; he spends the afternoon smiling, smiling, the sharp Ninomiya persona barely adequate to hide his anger at how damn _stupid_ the both of them are. _Leave it alone_ , he counsels himself, after he finds himself clenching his hands so tightly that his nails leave crescent-shaped dents in his palms; the first sensible advice he's heard for weeks, however much it galls him. It's just not possible, he reasons, to carry on at this pitch: one of them has to stop before something gives, and neither of them are kids any more, to pretend that this kind of childishness is acceptable.

He has a moment of painful nostalgia for the feeling of Ohno's head on his shoulder, cool hand in his, back when it was still possible for them to say that all this was innocent. Friendship, Nino thinks, might be severely underrated. It's not impossible to go back to that...is it?

Having decided upon this manly, adult resolution, Nino gives his interviewer a marginally less scary smile, thanks her very much like a good little idol, and lets himself be driven back through the unseasonal rain to the Jimusho. It's past dinner time by now, and he treks up through the building to their inconveniently high floor, to collect his things and check the morning's schedule, worn out with frayed nerves and trying to look genuine when all he wants to do is bite someone's head off. He heaves his bag onto his shoulder and waits for the elevator, which is painfully slow whenever anyone wants to get somewhere in a hurry.

It finally descends, and the doors open. _Oh, perfect_ , thinks Nino, numbly. There is Ohno, huddled in his coat, looking cold and tiny and soul-destroyed. He gives Nino an open-mouthed stare, which would look hilarious if this weren't the worst timing of the century. Nino stares back, resentful, heart full to bursting with loving him. Ohno looks like he wants to cry. _Just take the stairs, idiot_ , Nino tells himself sensibly. He sees Ohno's hand twitch, as if he wants to reach out.

The doors begin to close, and in an instant Nino waves his resolution goodbye: he shoves them open, steps in, reaching Ohno and not stopping, pushing him back against the metal wall with a thud. The doors shut.

“Don't say anything,” Nino warns Ohno, and kisses him full on the mouth, hands gripping his shoulders, a long moment of stillness. Then Ohno gives a full-body shiver and kisses him back, at long last, a little sound of despair or relief escaping him as his lips part, Nino's mouth pushing insistently against his. The elevator descends, the feeling of gravity dragging at Nino, dizzying him as much as the taste of Ohno, the heat of him, those long fingers twisted in the fabric of his jacket. For a lingering second Ohno is pressed against him all along his body; then he pushes Nino back, his round face flushed, lips damp and shining as he tries to speak.

“I _told_ you -” Ohno manages, before Nino worms one hand beneath his coat, fingers warm against his chest, moving closer with little resistance.

“Your heart's going like crazy.” Nino whispers it triumphantly against the shell of Ohno's ear, his own voice shaking. He prises Ohno's right hand free and sets it over his chest, both their fingers trembling. “Mine is too, see.”

“I -” begins Ohno, a little desperately, and then the doors slide open. Light spills in, and Nino registers the sight of the ground floor lobby, and a number of heads turned their way. Ohno has frozen like a deer in the headlights; but the denizens of the Jimusho are used to members of Arashi being bizarre in unexpected areas of the building, and this particular piece of madness raises only a few eyebrows as their owners wonder what TV show they'll end up on this time.

Nino gives a bright, slightly drunken idol smile at the world in general.

“I'm taking you home,” he murmurs in a tone that brooks no argument, words ghosting over Ohno's hair. He wonders, momentarily, if he should be demanding some kind of explanation for Ohno's appalling hot-and-coldness before anything else idiotic happens, but he doesn't care, he _doesn't care_ , not now Ohno's warmth is radiating against him once more.

Ohno just swallows, and nods, kissed into submission, blushing furiously as Nino marches them through the still-crowded reception and out into the dim wastes of the car park. Nino locates his keys with difficulty – his hands are still unsteady – and looks up at Ohno, whose eyes are two dark, unreadable pools.

“Get in.”

Ohno drops ungracefully into the passenger seat, looking mildly dazed. Nino follows, and Ohno's fingers immediately tangle with his, pressing hopefully, as if expecting Nino to explain exactly what's going on, but that's not going to happen because Nino has no idea either, just that his heart is hammering and Ohno is close enough to kiss again, so he does. Ohno gasps, then does something wicked and beautiful with his tongue that makes Nino hard almost instantly.

“ _Woah_ , okay,” he grates out, dragging himself away from the older man before anything unfortunate can happen, like Ohno doing that again. Ohno's fingers come to rest lightly against his hip, needily, looking for comfort, and Nino pats his knee in what he hopes is a reassuring way.

“Let's go, Oh-chan.” Ohno nods, and buckles up, biting his lip in a way that is almost illegally cute as Nino steers his car carefully into the rain-soaked Tokyo traffic.

Then comes a long pause of nobody knowing what to say, Nino driving very properly and deliberately to distract himself, to stop himself thinking about how they managed to get themselves from this morning to this evening, and how ridiculous it seems, and whether this might not actually be a dream of the same highly-stressed species he experienced before taking his driving test. Ohno just sits and looks at him, eyebrows worried as usual, fingers touching him all along his side, lightly, curiously, until Nino slaps his hand away.

Ohno gives up and sits quietly, looking almost resigned, but as though a terrible weight has been lifted from him; after the first massive shock, he now seems in a contemplative world of his own until Nino takes the lane for his own suburb, traffic thickening at the junction. Then he looks around and blinks.

“Aren't we going home?”

“Oh-chan,” Nino says patiently, watching the road, “we're not kids any more.”

“I know.”

“Do you have any idea how long I've been waiting for this?”

Ohno looks guilty, in a vague, detached sort of way, and Nino raises his eyebrows.

“You know we're going to have sex, right?”

Ohno blushes, nods, looks out of the window as if it were somehow a given and not just the result of Nino's terminal impatience.

“Well, sorry to say it, but I can't get it up with your mother downstairs. We're going to _my_ place.”

Ohno lets out a nervous chuckle, reaches over to slide one slim hand up the inside of his thigh, and Nino almost crashes the car.


	8. Chapter 8

“Well,” says Nino eventually, scratching the back of his head and wondering how to pick up where they left off.

Ohno has been standing in the middle of Nino's little living room for five minutes now, looking around absently and anxiously twiddling his fingers, and Nino has advanced no further towards wild passionate sex than taking his leader's wet coat off in the hall.

“Oh-chan...” Nino begins, hands jammed in his pockets because it would just seem rude to assault Ohno when the older man is obviously trying to be polite in a friend's house. Nino gazes at him fondly, exasperatedly. “Come on, make yourself at home.”

To anyone with a more sensitive social radar than that of, say, a pigeon, thinks Nino, this would naturally be read as _get your clothes off right now and jump me!_ , but it seems Ohno needs something a little less subtle. Nino looks him in the eye and deliberately peels off his own waistcoat, and the tshirt beneath it, trying not to turn red at the audacity of it. Ohno's eyes widen slightly.

“...Aren't we going to talk?” he asks, blushing. Nino sticks his hands on his hips, grinning more confidently than he feels.

“I wasn't planning on it.”

“Oh.” Ohno blinks at this, shrugs, and in a flash has crossed the distance between them, tugging Nino towards him and crushing their mouths together so all Nino can do is be shocked and close his eyes and bury his hands helplessly in Ohno's hair. A tongue darts past his lips, and Nino remembers himself enough to open his mouth and kiss back, folding his leader in his arms with a muffled laugh of amazement that this is happening, is really, actually _happening_. Ohno's mouth is slick and hot, his kisses urgent as Nino has seldom known him, and before he knows what's going on Nino finds himself falling backwards onto the couch, playstation controller hard and possibly broken beneath his hip.

“Oh-chan!” he says dumbly, as Ohno parks himself matter-of-factly across his thighs, round face locked in a frown of concentration, as if stopping would make it impossible to start again.

The older man's surge of confidence seems to falter.

“I- Is this what you want, is this right?” he asks, and Nino feels the muscles of his slim legs tense above him.

“Oh dear god _yes_ ,” answers Nino fervently, tugging Ohno down by his collar until he feels that soft weight and warmth all over, raising his head demandingly for more kisses; Ohno lets out a little moan as their mouths lock, and now Nino is giddy again because he's been dreaming of that sound for so long, and with no electronic interference between them it's even sweeter than he had imagined. He fumbles with the buttons of Ohno's shirt blindly, feeling soft skin and slender limbs pressing against his own, and eventually manages to strip it off, almost immobilising Ohno's hands behind his back along the way.

Once he has free use of his limbs again, Ohno pulls away a little, face flushed, breathing accelerated charmingly, looking quizzically at Nino.

“Keep going, Oh-chan.” Nino tries to sound reassuring, though his own breathing is none too steady; Ohno has settled on his hips, thinking about what to do next, which feels both delightful and frustrating and Nino is getting hard beneath him, and it's all going to be very unfortunate if Ohno doesn't do something about it _right now_. He slides his hands comfortably over the marvellous and familiar contours of Ohno's ass, rolling his hips up against him slightly, making the older man swallow heavily above him. Then Ohno is scooting backwards, which was not what Nino had in mind at all; he finds himself making a noise of dismay.

“Ah.” Ohno raises a finger, cautioning patience, and resumes his backward wriggle until he's off the couch completely and kneeling in front of the prostrate Nino. He presses a kiss to his stomach, just below his navel, and Nino, raising his head with difficulty, thinks it's the sweetest thing he's ever seen. He swiftly revises this opinion with a jolt when Ohno's fingers slip beneath his waistband, tugging at the buttons of his jeans, because nothing in the _world_ could be more beautiful than Ohno's pretty hands undressing him, perfect mouth inches away and dark eyes smiling up at him. Ohno's nails brush lightly against his thighs and then somehow Nino's pants are off with little more than an undignified wiggle, and Nino thinks he might expire if Ohno just sits and watches him, blinking nervously like he is right now.

“What're you sitting there for, Leader?” he manages. “'S not gonna get any bigger no matter _how_ long you wait.”

Ohno stifles a laugh, and seems to relax a bit, hands resting companionably on Nino's thighs.

“I don't know what I'm doing, that's all.”

Nino's eyes widen as Ohno exhales softly, warm air caressing his by now very insistent hard-on.

“Do _anything_.” Nino sounds like he's begging, which he doesn't much care for. Ohno walks his fingers curiously up Nino's length, making the younger man shudder and give a stifled groan into the sofa cushions.

“Sorry.” Ohno rubs his cheek against the inside of Nino's left thigh apologetically, and Nino looks down in time to see one slim hand wrap itself around him; then his vision blurs as Ohno flicks out his pink tongue and licks an experimental stripe of liquid fire up the underside of his cock.

“ _Nngh_ ,” is all Nino can say. Ohno looks faintly smug through his blush.

“Nino, Nino,” he murmurs, somehow managing to sound affectionate and sexy simultaneously, and closes his mouth over Nino's erection.

“ _Holy shit_.” Nino's mind goes utterly blank, and he's unable to stop himself pushing upwards because it's so hot and it's _Ohno_ and it's just... He can't even begin to describe it, and before he can try Ohno has pulled back and is coughing, looking at him reproachfully. Nino apologises, profusely if inarticulately, and Ohno gives him a wary nod, taking hold of a leg with one hand and pressing down on his stomach with the other for good measure. Before Nino can steel himself Ohno takes a deep breath like he's going diving and engulfs him once more, cautiously taking him deeper. Nino's hands come up to tangle hard in his hair, and Ohno makes a thoughtful hum in the back of his throat.

“Gaah!” This time Nino manages to lose control of his leg muscles and kick Ohno sharply in the shoulder-blade.

“...Ow,” says Ohno, a few seconds later, raising his head and drawing a whimper from Nino at the sudden loss of that warmth. His eyebrows are concerned again. “Am I doing this wrong or something?”

Nino shakes his head mutely, desperately, unable to convey the fact that Ohno could cover him in tonkatsu sauce and use him as a lollipop for all he cares: Ohno can do whatever he likes as far as Nino is concerned, and it will immediately become the most erotic act in the world because it's _him_ doing it. Unfortunately, Nino can't process this kind of long sentence at the moment. Ohno slides back up his body to kiss him on the mouth again, slowly, plaintively, the friction of his pants unbearable on over-sensitised skin, and Nino realises that he's hard, too.

“Do you want to do something else?” asks Ohno solemnly.

“No, _no_. Oh-chan,” whispers Nino, letting his lips graze Ohno's teasingly until Ohno kisses him back, hard. “ _Please_.”

Ohno nods, slightly mollified, and makes his reverse journey once again, this time kissing his way back down Nino's body, raising shivers on pale skin wherever his mouth lands, the pads of his elegant fingers a little rough as they trail over the head of his cock. Nino grits his teeth and holds himself rigidly still for the first few seconds of delicious heat, letting Ohno get his bearings, and then as he begins to move Nino becomes utterly immobile anyway.

He lets his eyes flutter closed, concentrating on the sensations and the miraculous fact that _Ohno Satoshi_ is doing this to him, is letting this happen. Ohno is having a hard time finding a rhythm, it rather obviously being his first (a fact which pleases Nino rather than otherwise, being the possessive creature he is). Nino twines his fingers gently in the soft caramel of Ohno's hair, guiding him carefully, making what noises of praise and encouragement are possible in his present state, and Ohno responds as naturally as he always has responded to Nino, using fingers and lips and tongue to make up for not being able to get all of Nino inside his mouth.

“You're so damn good...at _everything_ , Leader,” Nino rebukes him half-heartedly. Ohno is making little sounds too now, soft moans that reverberate around Nino's hard-on and lead him closer, closer to the edge as Ohno speeds up.

“ _Oh-chan_ ,” Nino warns gutturally, fingers digging into Ohno's scalp, “I'm going to -”

Ohno takes a deep breath through his nose and angles his head contemplatively, and Nino slips all the way to the back of his throat. Ohno's eyes flick up to meet his, dark and wanting beneath lowered lashes, and the sight is too much for Nino, whose stamina has never been particularly remarked upon: he draws in a choked breath and his vision swims, bright with the force of his orgasm, blurrily seeing Ohno's eyes widen at the unfamiliar feeling.

Ohno waits until Nino has stopped shaking before he draws back, breathing unsteadily. He coughs again, and wrinkles his nose thoughtfully. Nino yet again revises his opinion, and thinks that the sexiest sight in the world must be Leader as he is right now, flushed and panting, lips bruising a delicate red and the perfect arc of his cupid's bow shining.

“Are you ok?” asks Nino, managing to half sit up, fingers still tangled in Ohno's hair.

“I -” Ohno's voice comes out hoarse and soft, and he tries again, looking almost put out and completely adorable, eyes crossing in an effort to look at his own mouth. “Can I have a drink, please?”

Nino strokes his cheek wordlessly, then hauls himself up and staggers to the kitchen, returning with a tall glass of water. Ohno drinks deeply, both hands around the glass, then wipes his mouth on the back of his wrist and clambers back onto the sofa, draping himself across Nino's prone body and burying his face in his neck.

“Thank you,” is all Nino can think of to say, stroking the curve of Ohno's back soothingly. And then, curiously, “what was it like?”

Ohno makes a non-committal noise, arm sliding around Nino's waist.

“Very odd.”

“Not good?” demands Nino, concerned both that he might have hurt Ohno, and that Ohno might not want to do it again, god forbid.

“Sexy,” Ohno reassures him, voice still quiet. “And odd.”

Nino nods slowly and lets it be. He feels utterly relaxed. Quietly he trails his fingers across Ohno's skin, exploring languidly and regretting the cloth-covered areas but too lazy to try taking Ohno's pants off right now.

“Nino...” murmurs Ohno after a while, kissing his throat softly, asking. Nino blinks at him for a minute, until he makes a petulant face and shifts, and Nino feels a hardness that is definitely not a PS controller pressing into his hip.

“Shit, Oh-chan,” Nino exclaims, sitting up abruptly and bumping his forehead against Ohno's nose, “I am _so sorry_!”

Ohno grins sheepishly, rubbing his nose, and presses against Nino again, very deliberately. This results in nothing more than Nino losing his precarious position on the narrow sofa and sliding slowly onto the floor, giggling helplessly. Ohno's head appears above him and peers down at him owlishly, as if to say _what the hell are you playing at?_.

“I think,” says Nino reflectively, heaving himself to his feet and swinging Ohno up into his arms bride-across-the-threshold style, “that we should take this to the bed.”

Ohno is hardly in a position to argue, and Nino beams at him lasciviously while immediately regretting the mode of reaching the bed.

“You gotta get back in the Figurines, honey,” he mutters, staggering a little.

“Maybe you should get back to the gym,” Ohno retorts mildly, dropping out of Nino's arms and trotting through to the bedroom under his own steam. “My _sister_ can pick me up easier than you.”

“Your sister is taller than both of us,” Nino reminds him, and proceeds to prove his manliness by launching Ohno onto the bed, landing neatly between his legs. Ohno pouts, something he is very, very good at, and Nino begins to tickle him until he remembers that Ohno, so staid and slow on the uptake, has never been ticklish at all, and is just lying there gazing serenely at the ceiling.

“Come on, honey, Oh-chan” mutters Nino, giving up, burying his face in Ohno's neck and nudging his thighs apart. “You're far too dressed right now.”

“Well it's been nice,” remarks Ohno mildly, the gentle, exploratory drift of his manicured nails threatening to upset Nino's post-orgasmic calm, “ogling _you_ for a change.”

“I do not ogle,” Nino lies, pinning Ohno's arms to the bed with his elbows. “You're just...always in the way of my eyes.”

Ohno grins at that, sweetly, and flicks the tip of his tongue over Nino's bottom lip. The younger man gives him a look, serious for once, and trails one hand down tentatively, ghosting past his leader's stomach.

“You're really...okay with this?” he asks, as though the sudden arch of Ohno's body into his touch isn't enough answer.

Ohno just looks at him for a minute, earnest beneath the pink cheeks and clinging limbs.

“It's too late now, either way,” he says, shrugging quietly, leaning in closer to Nino and nuzzling his cheek briefly. “After the first time you kissed me, I knew, you know?”

“Not really,” admits Nino, leaning heavily on Ohno's chest. “What did you know?”

Another fleeting brush of lips against his.

“That if it happened again...that would be it. I thought it would be easier if it didn't. But it did, and it is.” Ohno sounds tranquil, and Nino understands, though the garbled explanation, that he's accepted it, because now it's in motion there's nothing he can do, either of them can do, to go back to a time when they weren't _this_.

“Are you scared?” he asks, a little overawed by Ohno's total capitulation and a glimpse of what it will mean in real life, outside this little world of the two of them, the weight of it.

“No,” says Ohno solemnly, then gives his little crinkle-eyed smile and leans up to kiss him again, lips parting beneath Nino's like a flower opening, arms winding around his neck. Nino gives up asking questions and just revels in Ohno's compliance as his leader breathes into him, strokes the hair back from Ohno's hot forehead, the feel, the smell, the taste of him so familiar and marvellous it hurts.

“Oh-chan,” he murmurs after a while, between snatched breaths because Ohno doesn't seem about to stop kissing him any time soon, “wait a minute.”

“Mm?” Ohno looks like he doesn't want to wait a minute, even a second when he could have Nino's lips on his after so long spent guarding against that very thing. Nino grins breathlessly and moves his mouth lower, over Ohno's round chin and down his tanned throat, not deviating for a moment from his warm skin.

“Don't you want me to make you feel good?” he demands, teeth scraping lightly over the rise of Ohno's collarbone, hearing a tiny gasp and running his hands along Ohno's small waist possessively.

“Don't you want to be a little less cheesy?” retorts Ohno, hands trying to get a grip on Nino's short hair as that sharp tongue laps across his left nipple. Nino stifles a snigger into the older man's chest and bites down gently, making Ohno squirm beneath him deliciously.

“But Oh-chan tastes so good.” Nino rolls his eyes at himself, but it's true, actually, all warmth and the faint tang of salt and _Ohno_ beneath his tongue.

“Hey, what did I just say?” complains Ohno, “didn't I just _oh my god_ -”

Nino, feeling that his leader might be getting distracted from the point and wandering off down one of his tangents, has plucked up his courage and finally let his hand invade Ohno's pants, something he's been wanting to do since he was a teenager and which reaps instant rewards as Ohno's eyelids flutter closed and he lets out a moan of surprised pleasure. Nino smirks to hide his own delight and touches him more confidently, fingers slipping beneath the regulation grey underwear to stroke him teasingly.

“ _Nino_...” Ohno's hands clutch at his shoulders pleadingly.

“Yes, Oh-chan?” Nino replies, voice muffled as he continues his exploration of Ohno's flat stomach, not changing the pace of his hand.

“Pants...need to go.”

“That's just what I said ten minutes ago,” Nino reminds him stoically, and slows down to make the other man wriggle impatiently. But it's really too awkward to touch him like this, with all that cloth between Nino and the sheer beauty of a naked Ohno, so he relents and pops the button, yanking the clothes off Ohno's slim hips while gliding back up his body to kiss him deeply again. Ohno gives an elegant writhe beneath him and then there is nothing but skin against skin, and goose bumps running over Nino's forearms at the sensation.

“Oh-chan,” he mutters into the kiss, his hands stilling on Ohno's waist to hold him fast while he kneels up, dragging himself away from that heat. “Turn over for me a minute, will you?”

Ohno pouts reluctantly, reaching up for him again, but Nino just smiles in anticipation and waits, making no move to touch him. The smile widens predatorily as Ohno obeys, rolling over between Nino's knees to lie crossly on his stomach, looking back at him mournfully.

“ _Wow_ ,” Nino says happily, gazing in appreciation at the magnificent view below him.

“What?” asks Ohno, puzzled. Nino shakes his head and aims a playful swat at the perfect behind in front of him; a little delay, and Ohno yelps.

“Just wanted a look,” Nino declares, with a sigh of satisfaction.

“It's not like you've never seen it before,” grumbles Ohno, turning back over and tugging Nino down towards him, reaching grabbily for his hands, pressing kisses to the knuckles before guiding them insistently back between his legs.

“But never so up close and personal.” Nino gives in and begins to touch Ohno again, it's not as though it's a chore after all, although now he can't keep his hands from trailing back to the neat curves of Ohno's rear, pinching, stroking, squeezing until Ohno is moaning about bruises, or at least would be if he could form a coherent sentence between what Nino's fingers are doing and the lips devouring his.

Then, “wait,” Ohno is whispering, urgently, scrambling out of Nino's grasp when the other man doesn't stop. Nino makes a grab for him, precipitating a minor wrestling match with added groping until Ohno triumphantly tumbles him over and sits on him, panting and looking so beautiful that Nino can barely scowl up at him.

“What?” he demands, trying anyway. Ohno strokes his chest with feather-light fingers, and looks apologetic.

“If you had kept going...” he begins.

“That's kind of the point,” Nino interrupts in exasperation because he wants to watch Ohno come, dammit, and before he loses control again himself.

“I'm ok, I can wait,” Ohno reassures him, despite all evidence to the contrary, suddenly looking shy. “I thought we could...well...together.”

“Cute, Oh-chan.” Nino, who is in fact very much ready to go again, beams at him as if he's the luckiest man alive. Ohno glances at Nino from under his short lashes, and drags fingers down his stomach to wrap around his erection, which is suddenly very perky once more.

“God.” Nino tugs Ohno down by the ear to kiss him again, open-mouthed and messy because it's impossible to concentrate when those fabulous hands are doing such things to him right in front of his eyes. “...You wanna...I mean, actually _do it_?” he asks cautiously when he can draw breath, hardly daring to hope for so much good fortune. Ohno bites his lip, and nods slowly, and Nino shivers. “I hoped you'd say that.”

“I just...” Ohno has to pause as Nino grabs his behind, pushing their hips together firmly. “I just don't want to hurt you.”

Nino sits up abruptly, eyebrows raised in surprise, throwing Ohno off balance.

“Ahaha. So you thought _you_ were going to do _me_.”

“Er...yes?” ventures Ohno, looking perplexed. Nino, whose hands are still glued to his ass like a limpet, pulls him back closer, and gently lets his fingers drift down Ohno's lower back, below the base of his spine to make things crystal clear.

“I can't imagine what gave you that idea,” he says sceptically, because he's personally been basing his Sexual Roles Theory on personality types; whereas it seems his leader has different categories in mind. And, true to his suspicions, Ohno gives him an old-fashioned look as if it were perfectly obvious, pulling himself up to Nino's eye level.

“I'm older than you.”

“Not mentally.”

“I'm taller than you,” tries Ohno fretfully, looking worried.

“You know you're not.”

“I am your leader!”

Nino laughs softly, and rolls Ohno over with a thud to pin his hands above his head before he can make any more protests. “Give it up, Leader,” he whispers, leaning down to kiss him from his throat to his stomach, wriggling until he's kneeling between Ohno's legs.

“Very... _ngh_...persuasive,” Ohno says with a gasp as Nino flicks his tongue over a nipple.

“I'll be careful with you,” Nino reassures him.

“...All right,” whispers Ohno at last, when Nino's teeth and lips have tracked disrespectful pink marks all down his torso. “All right. I trust you.”

Nino pauses, lays his head for a moment on Ohno's stomach, moved more than he would have thought by Ohno's words.

“Thank you,” he murmurs into the warm, damp skin below his belly button.

Ohno lies there resignedly for a minute, as if waiting to be invaded, then furrows his eyebrows and sits back up as Nino clambers off him and disappears head first over the side of the bed.

“Er,” he says, slightly indignant.

“Oh-chan.” Nino's voice is muffled because he's making an undignified squeeze under the bed, his hands finding dust and old gaming magazines.

“If you're _that_ nervous about it, we don't have to do it at all,” Ohno calls down to him, apparently puzzled by this U-turn in attitude.

“Shut up,” Nino replies, and then, “Hah!” as he finds what he was looking for.

“Oh,” says Ohno, apprehensively, staring down at the lube that Nino has just triumphantly thrown on the bed (' _Silicone Satin, it lasts as long as you do!_ '), having finally located it behind a stack of '90s manga. Nino, who had surreptitiously purchased it at one in the morning while wearing a film-noir hat during his 'hopeful' stage, coughs deliberately as if defying Ohno to ask _why_ he has something like that under his bed.

Ohno doesn't, just gives a little shiver and lets Nino turn him over, settling on his stomach. Nino moves to rest lightly above him, biting at one ear fondly, sliding a knee between his thighs. He's controlling every muscle at the moment, very deliberately, because he doesn't want to alarm Ohno by trembling with the nervousness he feels and the fact that looking this stuff up on the internet is poor preparation for actually trying to _do it_. Instead he glides his hands soothingly across Ohno's shoulders and inch by inch down the smooth curve of his back, dropping kisses reverently in the path of his fingers, loving every tiny shudder he feels under his mouth.

“'S nice,” says Ohno, arms and legs limp with pleasure, mumbling into the sheets.

Nino presses his lips to the back of his neck, nudging his legs open with a knee, fumbling blindly with the lube.

“Cold!” exclaims Ohno with a sharp inhalation, shocked out of his contented reverie by Nino's questing fingers high up on the inside of his thigh.

“I know,” Nino tells him, resting his forehead briefly against Ohno's shoulder-blade because he's dizzy again with what he's being allowed to do, and the velvet-soft skin beneath his fingers. Ohno's hand comes up to pet his hair reassuringly, the other tangled anxiously in the bed sheets.

When Nino finally slips a finger inside him Ohno just lets out a little hiss, twisting to meet Nino's eyes before pursing his lips stoically.

“It's ok,” he mutters, reaching back to take Nino's wrist, encouraging him with a tentative smile.

“You're amazing, Oh-chan,” breathes Nino, meaning it. He begins to get Ohno used to it, gently, carefully, pressing deeper, sliding his free hand beneath the older man's hips to stroke him as he adds another finger and Ohno lets out a whimper.

“You're doing really good,” he whispers after a while, feeling Ohno push needily against the hand teasing his hard-on, loving the licentious little moans falling from his lips. Ohno's skin is damp with sweat, shivering and yet heating Nino down to his toes as he presses closer against him.

“Hey,” he says once Ohno is practically purring beneath him, all traces of discomfort erased. He nips at the back of his shoulder when Ohno doesn't answer, lost in his own little world of intense sensation. “Oh-chan, stick your left hand out.”

Typically, Ohno doesn't question this odd request but unfolds his fingers from where they had been tangled with Nino's around his arousal, and waves his hand about in front of him vaguely, eyes closed.

“In the drawer,” says Nino, laughing, removing his own fingers gently from Ohno's body to point, “reach in the _drawer_.”

Ohno stretches, taut muscles moving across his slender, gleaming back, and fumbles around in the bedside table.

“Safety first.” Nino takes the condom Ohno passes back to him. Ohno makes an inarticulate noise that might be agreement, then twists round impatiently while Nino is fiddling the wrapper open with clumsy fingers.

“Let me.”

Nino gives up wordlessly, and appends another item to his 'sexiest things I've ever seen' list, swallowing heavily as Ohno scrunches up his nose in concentration and rolls the condom onto him, kissing wherever he can reach at the same time. When Ohno starts to turn back over, task completed, Nino stops him with a peremptory hand, pushing him down onto his back.

“Like this, ok, Oh-chan?” he says softly. “I want to look at you.”

Ohno pauses thoughtfully, then favours him with another shockingly sweet smile and passes him the lube, tugging him down between his legs.

“Tell me if it hurts, and I'll stop,” Nino instructs him, hoping he'll be able to. Ohno just looks up at him with those big eyes, hands grasping at the sheets beneath him as Nino screws his own eyes shut and begins to ease into him, infinitesimally slow. Nino can hear nothing, see nothing past the preposterous pleasure of being inside Ohno; when he eventually opens his eyes, Ohno is biting his lip hard, chest rising and falling rapidly, knuckles white against the bedspread.

“Am...I hurting you?” Nino manages to say, stopping his ingress with an effort. Ohno shakes his head, the muscles of his stomach tense.

“No, it's just like...” Ohno pauses, lips parted in an effort to think. “I don't know what it's like.”

Nino leans forward to brush away the light sweat breaking at his temple, and Ohno grits his teeth at the change in angle with a soft groan, gripping Nino's hand convulsively, long nails digging into his wrist.

“ _Now_ it hurts. Nino?”

Ohno sounds so delicate, so trusting, that Nino can't do anything but pull away, even that feeling making the older man gasp. Nino takes some deep, calming type breaths, kissing him lightly, and proceeds to rearrange the bed, pushing a pillow beneath Ohno's hips to make him more comfortable, applying more lube, ignoring the mess he's making of the sheets. Ohno watches him fondly if apprehensively.

“You want to try again?” asks Nino, sliding his short fingers down his leader's erection. Ohno gulps, nods.

“Practice makes perfect, right?”

Nino breathes thanks to whatever deity decided to create such a perfect human as Ohno Satoshi, and slips one hand beneath his lower back, supporting him firmly as he enters him for the second time. This time it's Ohno with his eyes tight shut, pulling Nino down to kiss him, letting Nino swallow the sound of his moans. Nino feels arms around his back, clinging, as he envelops himself fully in the other man, and for a minute he can't think for the brilliancy of the feeling, slim legs pressing tight against his hips, the rapid beat of the pulse in Ohno's throat beneath his lips.

Then he moves and Ohno cries out quietly, eyes wide and fixed on him helplessly, nails digging painfully into his back with each shallow thrust.

“...How is it?” Nino asks distractedly, and grins breathlessly as Ohno's hands slide down to his ass, pushing him deeper with a soft whine, at the same time managing to give Nino a look that expresses just how stupid it is to expect him to answer questions at this moment. Nino makes a valiant effort not to close his eyes, not wanting to waste a second of this view, Ohno with his head thrown back in abandon, the flush spreading from his round cheeks down across his chest, little noises of what Nino hopes is arousal escaping his gleaming lips.

“ _Oh-chan_ , _Oh-chan_ ,” is all Nino can say, hooking one of Ohno's legs behind the knee to raise it, moving deeper, faster and Ohno is clinging to him like a lifeline, tighter with each minute that passes, lips moving desperately over every inch of Nino's skin he can reach, wordless syllables of desire. Nino wants to hold on longer, wants to stay buried in Ohno, lost in those beautiful eyes forever, but he _can't_ , Ohno is rocking back against him and it's too much: Nino wraps his leader completely in his arms while his second orgasm of the night blinds him, letting out an ecstatic, regretful growl, because he wanted to make a better showing than this, but how can he in the face of such _pleasure_?

Nino comes to a gradual stop, forehead dropping against the older man's chest, and Ohno makes a noise of dismay.

“Nino,” he begs, both hands on Nino's face, thrusting up against the slick skin of his stomach, “ _please!_ ”

“Oh-chan,” mutters Nino guiltily, “I'm _so sorry_...” He wonders how high seducing your best friend, and then coming twice to his zero, scores on the bad manners scale, and can't meet Ohno's eyes because he can't even imagine the level of pissed off he would be at if the same thing happened to _him_. If Nino were a more petty man (which he is, actually, but not in the middle of sex), he might have thought of the weeks of teasing and thwarted desire he's had to endure, and say this was easy retribution; but of course he doesn't, not after one look at Ohno's pleading face, at least.

“Never mind _apologising_...do something!” demands Ohno, almost tearful with frustration, tugging Nino up by the hair to crush their mouths together, tongue sweeping across his with appalling skill. Nino gets his brain in gear, still deep in Ohno's heat, and wraps one hand around him, slippery with sweat and stray lube. Ohno lets out a grateful whimper into his mouth, arching up into his fingers as Nino increases the speed, hands holding onto Nino's ears in a vice-like grip as they share airless, frantic kisses. Then Ohno is gritting his teeth and coming in dead silence, body tense and trembling with pleasure, making a mess of Nino, who buries his face in Ohno's neck and holds him tight until his muscles slacken, whispering thoughtless words of adoration and praise against his skin.

“...heavy,” comes a little voice after a while, and Nino lets up on his claustrophobic embrace reluctantly. Ohno makes a quiet, ambiguous noise as Nino finally pulls away from him, and winces, surveying the aftermath of the passionate assault on his body.

“I'm glad...we're not doing anything topless tomorrow,” he says breathlessly, blinking.

“Ditto,” says Nino fervently, eyeing the love marks on Ohno's skin with a quiet awe and feeling the sting of the scratches from Ohno's long nails on his own back. “Oh-chan...I really _am_ sorry it didn't turn out perfect, you know? I wanted it to be, for you.”

“Mm,” reflects Ohno, breathlessly, propping his arms behind his head and letting Nino towel him off indulgently. “We _are_ pretty athletic; we could've done something much more spectacular-looking.”

“Well, there's always next time.” Nino speaks with carefully studied nonchalance, watching Ohno's face and then grinning as Ohno beams at him like the sun rising.

“I'm glad you said that,” Ohno tells him simply, letting Nino pull him into a loose, sticky hug. “I wasn't sure what...”

“Idiot,” exclaims Nino, staring down at him in astonishment, floored, as usual, by his incredibly selective level of perceptiveness. “I _love you_.”

“Oh!” Ohno throws a leg over Nino's.

“Don't just 'oh' me. What did you think?” Nino demands incredulously. “I mean...why else?”

“I thought maybe...you couldn't help it.”

“I couldn't. Because I _love you_. Imbecile.” Nino purses his lips and steels himself. “What about you?”

“I tell you I'm in love with you at least once a month,” says Ohno reasonably, slipping artfully out of Nino's embrace and limping into the adjacent bathroom, calling back through the open door. “In magazines, on TV...”

“That doesn't count!” Nino shouts over the sound of water running into the bath. Ohno pokes his head back round the door.

“It does for me,” he says seriously.

“Are you trying to tell me you tell the truth in public?” Nino is justifiably sceptical, based on his own interview tendencies.

“When it matters.” Ohno leans against the door, looking simple and beautiful and like he's incapable of telling a lie.

“That's gonna be very dangerous,” warns Nino, hopping off the bed and tripping over Ohno's abandoned pants on the way to join him. “This...” He reaches Ohno and kisses him lightly, marvelling as usual at how well they fit together, Ohno's mouth at the perfect level for his own. “ _This_ is going to be difficult, you know?”

“I know,” Ohno tells him, “I'm not a complete simpleton. That's why I said it would have been better if we hadn't. I always...just wanted an easy life.” He turns round to swirl the bath water with his hand, bubbles foaming.

“But?” says Nino, hopefully.

“But. We did it. Anyway,” he continues unconcernedly, “everything about being an idol's difficult for me. This is just one more thing.” His nose crinkles happily. “You just have to hold off touching me like that in public. Well...not more than you usually do, anyway.”

“Fine,” agrees Nino. Ohno sticks out his hand, and Nino shakes it firmly, laughing at him, joy welling in him like a huge, warm bubble. “And you stop being so honest in interviews.”

“I'll try and think more,” Ohno promises doubtfully, still pumping Nino's hand until Nino uses it to cuff him lightly round the head. “I can keep secrets too, you know.”

“Secrets,” says Nino dolefully, pushing his nose against Ohno's cheek. Ohno leans against him, the feel of his skin still magical.

“One day,” he says softly, “we'll be old.”

“Older than SMAP!” agrees Nino, holding him loosely.

“And we won't be idols any more. And then if you want...we won't have to have any more secrets.”

“Yeah?”

“Promise.”

Nino nods, and gets on with washing Ohno, easing the older man into the bath, soaping his stiff muscles into boneless relaxation. And later, in his bed, Ohno's head a comfortable weight on his chest, Nino wonders who or what he should thank for this: his own idiotic, stalkerish tendencies? Aiba's drinking games? Clint Eastwood? Or Ohno himself, in all his eccentric glory? Yes, that sounds about right, he thinks; but then again, it doesn't really matter, if he can have another ten, twenty, fifty years of Ohno Satoshi snoring against him, cooking execrable cha-han, falling asleep in front of baseball games and loving him.

Ohno mumbles something about curry into his chest, dreaming. Nino pushes down both his worries about how hard the real world will be on them, and the bubble of happiness that overwhelms everything but Ohno with its brightness; resolves to buy ear plugs in the morning, and falls asleep.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, that's the end of that! I hope you enjoyed my first fic in this lovely fandom. Although it was a looooong time ago. If you had fun, do check out my other Ohmiya fics :)


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